


The Blood of the Hawke

by mille_libri



Series: At Your Side [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:19:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5285279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mille_libri/pseuds/mille_libri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Evelyn Hawke set out with their companions to find the person who has been sending crazed dwarves after her; but there's more to the blood of the Hawke than they've bargained for. (The events of "Legacy"; sequel to "At Your Side")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Is It Always Blood?

Hawke looked around her at the carnage. “What in the Maker’s name was that all about?”

The dwarves had come out of nowhere, attacking in force and taking Hawke and Fenris completely by surprise. It had been touch and go for a few minutes, and had the dwarves been at the top of their game, the outcome might have been different. But something was off—they seemed to be acting blindly, out of instinct instead of skill, and Fenris and Hawke had defeated them handily.

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t know. One of them said something about blood, I think, but what do dwarves want with blood?” He frowned. “Perhaps we should ask Varric.”

“You know how he gets when we assume he knows every dwarf in Kirkwall.”

“But these are Carta dwarves,” Fenris said, pointing to the familiar insignia on a shirtsleeve. “Varric is always willing to learn unpleasant things about the Carta.”

“No arguing with that,” Hawke agreed. “Let’s go.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
“Blood?” Varric looked mystified. “No, I haven’t heard anything like that. Sure, the Carta sheds a lot of other people’s blood, but the blood isn’t usually the point of the activity.”

“It was strange, Varric. They came out of nowhere, and they wouldn’t back down. Usually the Carta know when they’re beaten, and prefer to live to fight another day. But these ones …” Hawke shook her head. “They seemed crazed.”

Whatever Varric was about to say in reply was interrupted by a knock on the door. Norah the waitress poked her head in the door. “Message for you, Champion.”

“For me? Here?” It was a useless question; people who wanted her for something always seemed to find her, no matter where she was. Hawke reached for the folded piece of parchment in Norah’s hand, glad that the waitress knew them all well enough not to bother answering. Unfolding it, Hawke quickly scanned the message, frowning over it.

“What does it say?” Fenris asked.

“It’s from Bethany. Apparently a group of Carta dwarves managed to sneak into the Gallows and attacked her. She says one got near enough that it was clear they wanted to take her prisoner, not to kill her, and that he was muttering about ‘the blood of the Hawke’.” She grimaced. “Does it always have to be blood? Just once couldn’t it be spit, or a lock of hair?”

“So there is something special about your blood? Why am I not surprised?” Fenris said. 

“What are you going to do?” Varric asked.

“Set a trap, I suppose,” Hawke answered. “If they want our blood badly enough that they’re willing to come after both of us, they won’t stop at just one attempt apiece. And if they’re going to try again, better it be me than Bethany.” 

“Seems to me Sunshine’s proven she can take care of herself,” Varric said. 

Evelyn couldn’t deny he was right. Bethany had forced Anders to pay for his crime, and in the aftermath of the Chantry explosion had rallied the mages, putting them to work cleaning up the debris and healing the injured. Her actions had resulted in Bethany being named First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle. Still, Evelyn couldn’t put a lifetime of protecting her little sister aside quite so easily.

Varric recognized the stubborn set of Hawke’s jaw and nodded. “A trap it is, then.”

The following day, a temptingly armor-free Hawke took a stroll through a quiet section of residential Hightown. She whistled casually, looking around at the houses, and, as expected, in less than five minutes dwarves were jumping over walls and bursting out of doorways. Hawke’s team—Fenris, Varric, Isabela, and her cousin Charade—surrounded them immediately, and it was a fierce battle in which the dwarves refused to give up. It was as much as they could do to subdue one of them without killing him.

Varric knelt over the prone dwarf, slapping his face. “Wakey wakey.”

Hawke took an instinctive step backward when the Carta dwarf opened his eyes. They were a strange, milky blue, almost the color of a ghoul’s. Maker knew, she’d seen it enough times in those few of her fellow soldiers who had survived Ostagar.

The dwarf’s gaze moved over Varric, pinning on Hawke, and his eyes lit up. “The Hawke! The blood of the Hawke!”

“Why do you need Hawke’s blood?” Fenris demanded. The lyrium markings were sparking faintly, and Hawke put her hand on his arm. He shook her off, advancing on the dwarf, whose eyes opened wider. 

“Blood of the Hawke! Corypheus calls!” he whispered. “Take the Hawke’s blood. Carry it … Vimmark Mountains.” His head fell heavily onto the ground, his eyes rolling back into his head. Varric shook him a few times, and shook his head.

“I think he’s had it.”

“I guess we go to the Vimmark Mountains,” Hawke said. “It was getting boring around here anyway.”

“Should we speak with Bethany first?” Fenris asked. “Perhaps there are more of them, who will pursue her if you are not available.”

Evelyn couldn’t argue with that logic, and so they caught the next ferry across to the Gallows. They were ushered into the office of acting Knight-Commander Cullen, who greeted them with a harassed smile. “Champion.”

“Cullen, didn’t we agree you would call me Evelyn? Of all people, you know what a crock that Champion title is.”

“I’m sorry. Old habits.” He stood up, shaking hands with Fenris and Varric, and clasping Evelyn’s hand within both of his. “Speaking of old habits, dare I hope this is a social call, or are you here because a crisis has arisen?”

“Take a guess,” Varric said.

Cullen sighed. “I thought as much. I assume you’d like to speak with Bethany?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“She’s right across the hall, you know.”

Evelyn had entirely forgotten. She still wasn’t used to her little sister being the First Enchanter. “Do you mind if we just step across, then?”

“You don’t need to ask my permission any longer.” Cullen looked sad. “And soon, it won’t be my permission you’ll need, anyway. The news has come through—they’re assigning a new Knight-Commander here. From Orlais, naturally.”

“Orlesians aren’t known to be kind to mages,” Varric observed.

“No. And this one certainly won’t be. He’s on record as saying all mages should be locked in separate rooms and kept until they can be made use of.”

“Charming,” Fenris said.

“If I had any way of preventing it …” Cullen shrugged. 

“What’s going to happen to you?” Varric asked.

“I think it’s best not to think about that.” 

“Cullen, if you need … anything, you can always call on me,” Hawke said. 

He nodded, but she knew he wouldn’t ask. He’d take whatever the Chantry dished out, because at heart, he believed they were right. Hawke closed the door to Cullen’s office sadly, wishing there was some way she could save him from his own sense of responsibility.

She knocked on her sister’s office door, and was still somewhat surprised when the familiar soft voice told her to enter.

“Sister!” Bethany’s face lit up when she saw Evelyn. “Have you come to explain these strange dwarves?”

“I wish I could. The only thing I know is that they want our blood for someone named Corypheus.”

Bethany shook her head. “It’s always blood, isn’t it? What are we going to do?”

“The only lead we have is the Vimmark Mountains. The dwarf we captured wouldn’t say anything more.”

“But there’s nothing in the Vimmarks!”

Varric nodded. “We know. None of my sources know anything about any settlement there, any secret hideaways. It’s just a big blind spot on the map. And no one’s ever heard of this Corypheus, either.”

Frowning, Fenris said, “To put the dwarves we fought into that state of frenzy, Corypheus must be a powerful mage.”

“Broody, how many times do I have to tell you, magic doesn’t work on dwarves?”

“Looks like a few more, Varric,” Hawke cut in. She turned to her sister. “We’ll go check it out and report back to you.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Bethany’s mouth set into the pretty but stubborn pout Evelyn knew all too well. “I am not staying here safe and coddled while you go out and do all the work and resent me for not pulling my weight.”

It was on the tip of Evelyn’s tongue to deny the accusation, but she really couldn’t. “You’re the First Enchanter,” she said instead. “Are you sure you can just leave like this?”

“Far more easily than I could when I was just a Senior Enchanter. The head mage is still given some freedoms.” Her soft mouth tightened. “Under Cullen, at least. When he’s replaced … well, no point going into that until it happens.” 

They were all silent for a moment. “All right,” Evelyn said at last. “If you think you can get away, we’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Very well. Thank you, Sister.”

“Well, if what they want is the blood of the Hawke, might as well have it all in one place.” Evelyn grinned. 

After working out the logistics of meeting and packing and so forth, Evelyn and Fenris and Varric left the Gallows and took the ferry back to Kirkwall. Varric promised to enlist Isabela’s assistance once he got back to the Hanged Man.

Fenris and Hawke were left alone. They walked in silence for a few minutes before Fenris cleared his throat.

“Something on your mind?” Hawke asked.

His green eyes were serious as he took her by the arms, pushing her back against a wall and holding her there with his body. Hawke luxuriated in the heat of his lean frame against hers as he took her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. “You are not to put yourself at any unnecessary risk,” he said. 

“Fenris, they want my blood. I’m already at risk, and will be until we get to the bottom of whoever this Corypheus is and what he might be after.”

He leaned his head against her shoulder. “May I confess something?”

“This is all a big trick to lure me to a surprise birthday party?”

Fenris laughed. “No. Perhaps next year.” He lifted his head, the smile fading from his face. “The truth is, I weary of the constant threats to your life. If something were to happen to you—“

“It won’t. That’s what I have you for.” A half-amused acknowledgment passed between them, memories of all the times they had failed to protect one another, but neither of them bothered to put that knowledge into words. “Let’s go home and see if I can’t take your mind off of it all.”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
The next day, they made their way out into the desert toward the Vimmarks. Evelyn and Fenris, Bethany, Varric, and Isabela, who had joined them at the last minute. 

“Rivaini, you’ve been complaining for ten years that you didn’t have a ship. Now you’ve got one, and you’re still in Kirkwall, traipsing around after Hawke. What’s the deal?” Varric asked.

Isabela grimaced. “Have you seen what my darling brother did to the Temptress? The curtains in the captain’s cabin are this hideous shade of yellow, and he papered the walls with little turtles wearing hats. It’s no wonder his crew were all so willing to leave him—who can respect a captain with such bad taste?”

Fenris and Hawke exchanged a glance. The excuse sounded remarkably similar in tone to the kinds of things Varric said whenever someone suggested he get out of Kirkwall and see the rest of Thedas. 

“Maybe I could take a look,” Bethany said wistfully. “They won’t let me do anything with my room in the Gallows—I’d love a chance to think about fabrics and wallpaper.”

“Ooh, would you?” Isabela slung an arm around Bethany’s shoulders. “Let me tell you what I was thinking.” The two of them fell behind, talking animatedly.

Evelyn sighed. “She would have made someone a wonderful wife.”

“Perhaps she will still have that chance,” Fenris said.

“You don’t think that, and you wouldn’t support it, so don’t patronize me,” Evelyn snapped.

Fenris looked offended, and perhaps there would have been an argument, but Varric called their attention to a destroyed caravan in the path. 

“The Carta don’t generally attack merchants. We dwarves like to see money being made, especially if there’s a chance to get a cut for ourselves. This kind of destruction …” Varric shook his head. “It’s not dwarfy.”

“’Dwarfy?’” Hawke repeated.

“What? How would you say it?”

“Sure, dwarfy. Whatever works.” Hawke kicked over a crate, spying a jug half-buried underneath it. “Black ale! Now that’s dwarfy.”

“Dibs!” Varric shouted.

“Finders keepers, my friend.” Hawke pulled the fat jug out of the dust, carefully stowing it in her pack. She had to laugh at Varric’s crestfallen expression. “Don’t worry, I intend to share.”

“That’s true, Broody only drinks wine.”

“I can appreciate a good dwarven ale.”

“Please. ‘Appreciate’? I’m talking about lip-smacking fall-down-drunk-before-you’ve-swallowed-it dwarven ale, and you claim to ‘appreciate’ it?” Varric snorted. “Let me know when you’re ready to uncork that thing, Hawke.”

She smiled, moving ahead of them, refusing to be drawn into the argument.

Something was ahead, blocking the path. As she came closer, she recognized the something as a dwarf. “Varric.”

“What?”

“Friend of yours?”

“Never met him before.”

The other dwarf came forward, his eyes shining with an unholy light. “The child of the Hawke!” His eyes caught sight of Bethany over Evelyn’s shoulder and he practically danced with excitement. “The children of the Hawke! They come! The blood of the Hawke comes to Corypheus! He will be freed!”

“I have no intention of freeing anyone.” Hawke crossed her arms over her chest. “Not without a lot more information than I’ve heard so far, and definitely not with my blood.”

“You have no choice,” the dwarf said, his eyes glittering. “Corypheus will have what he wants. You can come willingly, or—” 

“The more I hear of this Corypheus, the less I like him,” Fenris muttered as dwarves began to spill from the surrounding canyons. An arrow flew through the air, embedding itself in the ground at Varric’s feet.

Hawke and Fenris were moving even before it hit, drawing their blades and attacking the first two dwarves they saw. Bethany cupped her hands together, flame forming within them, and threw a fireball into the midst of a knot of dwarves. It exploded at their feet, sending singed bits of dwarf flying in all directions. Isabela rolled behind another dwarf, standing up and shoving her daggers into the back of his neck in one fluid movement. Varric’s keen eye spotted the archers on a ledge, and Bianca’s silver tongues sang until the archers were all down. 

In concerted movements born of a decade fighting alongside one another, Hawke and Fenris decapitated four dwarves in a row. Bethany froze the last one, and Bianca took him down with a final barb. 

“The Carta usually fights a lot better than that,” Isabela observed, yanking an amulet off the dwarf at her feet. She held it up, squinting at it, for a moment before shrugging and dropping it into her cleavage. 

“Something is wrong with these dwarves,” Fenris said. 

Bethany looked pale. “They seem … possessed. But that’s not possible!”

“Well, we aren’t going to find the answers standing here in the middle of the desert.” Hawke squinted at the horizon. “Do those look like buildings, or are my eyes playing tricks on me?”

“If they are, we’re all suffering from the same delusion,” Varric said. “Let’s go see if anyone’s at home.”

To their surprise, they found what appeared to be an entire small settlement of Carta dwarves, all of whom seemed determined to capture the “blood of the Hawke” for themselves. All of them were crazed, flailing about them with an uncontrolled strength that was unpredictable but also not particularly challenging. 

As Varric and Isabela rifled through the pockets of the fallen dwarves and Bethany refreshed her energies with a lyrium potion, Hawke walked toward the edge of the paved area, staring into the distance. Slowly her eyes began to focus on a shadowy outline, glimmering in the hazy air. “Fenris!” 

“Yes?”

“Do you see something out there?”

They both strained to see what it was, and soon Hawke could make out the outline of a giant tower, stretching up into the air. “What is that?”

“It appears to be a structure, but who built it and to what purpose, I am unable to hazard a guess.”

“Why would anyone need a tower that big in the middle of the desert?”

“Was ‘unable to hazard a guess’ not a clear enough response?” Fenris gave her his trademark half-smile.

“Wait until I get you home.”

“The anticipation is already building,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

“Do the two of you ever stop that?” Isabela called. 

In response, Evelyn pulled Fenris even closer, reveling in the fact that instead of pulling away in the presence of the others, he responded ardently. They were both breathing heavily when the kiss ended, and Evelyn shot Isabela a wink over Fenris’s shoulder. “Maker, I hope not!”

“Would you like to do something useful, like clear the Carta out of this building so we can get a decent night’s sleep?” Varric asked.

“It’s mid-afternoon, Varric.” 

“Yes, and I have a jug of black ale waiting to be uncorked.”

“You mean I have a jug of black ale waiting to be uncorked, don’t you?” Hawke asked. She grinned at her friend.

Bethany looked shocked. “You mean, with all these dwarves trying to kill us and drain our blood, or whatever they want to do, you’re going to drink?”

Isabela shrugged. “It’s what we do, sugar. Lots less fun in a low-target environment like this one, but …” Her eyes skimmed Bethany’s shapely figure with interest. “It might not be a total loss.”

“Wipe that thought out of your mind right now, or I’ll do it for you,” Evelyn said, giving Isabela a warning look. 

The pirate grinned at her, uncowed. “Too late.” 

“Hawke, you might find this interesting.” Varric had opened a door, poking his head inside a little room that looked like it might have been a guard post and helping himself to whatever was in there. He emerged with a piece of parchment in his hand.

Evelyn scanned the page. “A Grey Warden fortress! And some of the recruits went mad while building it. Well, that might explain the dwarves, then. If they found this place, decided to make it their hideout, and then whatever goes on here made them crazy. But how did it?”

“Well, everyone, speak up if you feel any signs of crazy coming on,” Isabela said, looking around her nervously.

“Yes, do that,” Fenris drawled, looking pointedly at Isabela.

“Hey!”

Hawke rolled her eyes at both of them. “Enough. Let’s see what’s inside this building, shall we?”  
\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----  
This journey into the wilderness had been an eye-opener for Bethany. She hadn’t realized just how far apart she and her sister had grown. Somehow, with all the things that had happened in the Gallows—her relationship with Orsino, the ongoing politics that happened inside between the mages and the Templars, the defeat of Meredith and the rebuilding of the Circle—Bethany hadn’t really thought about what Evelyn’s life must have been like outside, or the changes her sister had undergone. On the face of it, Evelyn seemed the same. She was still a person who would sacrifice her own happiness for the right thing, still an indomitable warrior, still had a taste for dark, brooding men. 

But as she moved through the desert with her sister’s crew, Bethany had to admit that Evelyn wasn’t the same person anymore. She was far more relaxed, even in battle, and instead of constantly turning to yell orders at everyone, she trusted the others to do their jobs, to be where they were supposed to be. Even Bethany, which was an all-new experience. Isabela, Varric, and Fenris laughed and joked with Evelyn and with each other like … well, like Bethany had always thought a family should. Like their family had, before their father had died, and before they had lost Carver. 

As for Fenris … the elf was the same mage-hater he’d always been, and that showed no sign of changing, but being with him seemed to give Evelyn a confidence Bethany hadn’t even known her sister was lacking, as well as someone to lean on. The two of them could communicate more with each other in a glance than Bethany and Evelyn could say in an entire conversation. 

Bethany supposed she was happy for her sister. But some deep-down part of her was resentful. While she’d been locked away in the Gallows all this time, her sister had been free to save the city, to build up this new family of hers, to fall in love. Bethany suppressed a painful thought of the abomination Orsino had become, instead squaring her shoulders with determination. It was time to show her sister that she had changed, too, that she was a grown woman fully capable of pulling her own weight. She was First Enchanter, for the Maker’s sake!

She walked over and stood next to her sister near the door inside the massive building. “I’ll go first.”

“Thanks, Bethany, but we usually give that job to Isabela. She’s the sneakiest.”

“Doesn’t she say the nicest things?” Isabela winked at Bethany before gingerly pushing the door open and poking her head inside, then following it with the rest of her body. She signaled to the rest of them, and they followed her into the dusty room, filled with packing crates and old mine-carts. A hallway led farther in. Isabela led them down it, pausing to disable a couple of traps, and then down a creaky flight of stairs. Halfway down she halted them. A voice from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs called out, “Hold off on the bronto! We want to take the Hawke’s blood alive!”

“Still the blood. Always the blood,” Evelyn whispered. 

Bethany watched Isabela, who moved slowly down the steps, somehow managing to keep them from creaking. At the bottom, the pirate removed a tiny dagger from the belt at her hip, aiming carefully, and threw it across the room. “Now!” Isabela shouted, and Hawke and Fenris ran down the steps, drawing their swords and attacking as soon as their feet were off the stairs. Varric followed more slowly, lifting Bianca to his shoulder.

Placing herself behind Varric and glancing quickly over the field, Bethany raised her hands and sent a fireball flying into the midst of some dwarven archers on a balcony, sending them flying. Three of them tumbled off the balcony to land on the floor, two others skidded across the balcony and hit the wall. None of them got up.

“Nice going, Sunshine,” Varric said, squeezing off another shot into the melee on the first floor.

This grouping was harder—Bethany would have to target her magic very carefully if she wasn’t going to hit Evelyn, Fenris, or Isabela. She focused and froze a big dwarf who was about to attack Isabela with a giant axe.

Another large dwarf took off running through a doorway along the side moments before a spell would have paralyzed him. “Get the brontos!” he was shouting.

“Venhedis!” Evelyn swore, following the dwarf with her blade raised. Isabela and Fenris were hot on her heels. Bethany ran after them, glad she had left her robes behind and worn her sensible old pants and armor overshirt. 

With a sweep of her arm, she froze the two oncoming brontos in place. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to halt their charge before they could knock Fenris and Evelyn aside, and for Varric and Isabela to take out the dwarves who were lurking in the shadows. Evelyn and Fenris set themselves and when the brontos thawed went immediately to work. Bethany kept her eye on the dark passageway behind the open space. As a new set of dwarves came running down it, she reached out with her mind to blast them all back and was thrown completely off-guard when she couldn’t reach them. 

“Dwarves, Sunshine. Natural magic resistance,” Varric commented, catching one in the throat with a quarrel. Isabela was flipping and twisting, her daggers moving through the air at speeds Bethany wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

In a very short period, the dwarves were down and the brontos had been taken out. 

“What do you think, Varric, should we cut out some steaks and see what we can do about dinner?” Evelyn snagged a dagger from Isabela and went to work cutting open one of the brontos.

“Ew. Bronto steak?” Bethany wrinkled her nose.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Evelyn said. “Varric, go look to see if these dwarves left any good ingredients. One thing you can say about the Carta, they like to eat well. Let’s just hope this bunch hasn’t been so crazed that they forgot that.”

“What can I do, Sister?” Bethany asked, as Fenris began the unpleasant task of dealing with the dwarves’ bodies, Evelyn butchered the brontos, Varric went looking for ingredients, and Isabela explored the next room for treasures.

“See if you can help Isabela, will you, please? She has a tendency to get sidetracked. Help her clear some space to eat on and maybe a sleeping space as well.” Evelyn looked up from her work. “Nice job, Bethany. Glad to have you along.”

“Thanks.”

In what seemed to Bethany to be an amazingly short time, they were all sitting around a table, eating some fine rare bronto steaks with a mushroom-wine sauce and a side of roasted potatoes. She had forgotten what a good cook her sister was, and those skills had improved over time.

Once the plates had been cleared, Isabela taking on the task of washing them with surprising willingness, Varric leaned his elbows on the table, staring meaningfully at Evelyn.

“Something on your mind, Varric?” Evelyn asked, grinning at the dwarf.

“Ale, Hawke.”

“What’ll you give me for it?”

“What could I possibly offer you that Broody wouldn’t kill me for suggesting?”

“I would never kill you, Varric,” Fenris said with a rare smile. “I’d merely pluck out your chest hairs, one at a time, until they were all gone.”

“Oh, is that all? Come on, Hawke, let’s see the jug.”

Evelyn relented, as Bethany had been sure she would. One thing hadn’t changed since she’d been in the Gallows—Evelyn still couldn’t say no to Varric. Bethany wondered what would have happened if Fenris had never entered the picture. Would the obvious affection between her sister and the dwarf have become something deeper? The jug shone in the lamplight as Evelyn uncorked it, taking a careful swallow.

“Mm. That’s very good.” She handed the jug to Varric, who breathed in the aroma before taking a mouthful of his own.

“It’s been too long,” he said affectionately to the jug.

Fenris took a single swallow as well, coughing slightly. Varric and Evelyn exchanged amused glances.

To Bethany’s surprise, even Isabela only took one mouthful, licking her lips to gather all the flavor from them. “Careful, sugar,” Isabela said, handing the jug to Bethany.

She tilted the jug back, allowing the thick liquid to roll slowly into her mouth. It coated her tongue with a rich, dark taste that carried a dash of sweetness and a hint of smoke. A pleasant warmth filled her mouth and slowly began to move through her body. “Oh, my.”

Everyone else laughed, and the jug went around once more. 

By the fourth round, Bethany was startled to discover herself lying propped up on a pile of cushions on the floor, a glowing lassitude filling her body and making it feel like the most comfortable bed she’d ever lain in, and laughing at a joke she already couldn’t remember. Isabela was stretched out next to her, and Bethany could feel the heat of the pirate’s body pressed against her. It felt good, and she wriggled slightly closer.

“Varric, about this spy network of yours,” Fenris was saying, his diction overly precise. He was slouched in his chair, his eyes half-lidded. Evelyn leaned against the wall, her legs stretched out across Fenris’s lap, her brown hair loose around her face. She looked surprisingly young.

“What about it?” Varric seemed untouched by the alcohol other than a slightly overbright glitter in his eyes.

“I don’t believe there is any such thing.” 

“It’s possible that’s true. Or it’s possible that I have an army of elven urchins at my beck and call, watching you all the time.”

The dwarf and the elf stared at each other for a long moment; Bethany had the impression it was a contest of wills, but couldn’t tell which of them won.

“You,” Fenris said deliberately, “are a strange, hairy little man.”

“Takes one to know one, elf.”

“Oh, he’s not hairy,” Evelyn said. She giggled. “Not … anywhere.”

“Ooh, do tell.” Isabela sat up, looking intrigued.

“Hawke,” Fenris said, “be quiet.”

“Make me.” It was a dare; Bethany recognized the tone, and clearly so did Fenris.

The air shifted as Fenris and Evelyn looked at each other. The elf’s eyes were a very bright green. He hooked a foot around the rungs of Evelyn’s chair, hauling it—and her—the few inches across the floor toward him, the chair legs scraping along the wood planks. The movement brought her whole body into his lap. Fenris’s hand cupped the back of her neck, under her hair.

Bethany glimpsed Fenris’s face just before his mouth and Evelyn’s met, and a shiver ran down her spine. Mage-hater though he was, Bethany couldn’t help but appreciate him for his whole-souled devotion to her sister. No one had ever looked at Bethany that way.

The two of them were kissing passionately, their arms around each other and their whole focus absorbed in one another. Varric cleared his throat loudly. “You two, get a room. No, really,” he said, when they stopped kissing and looked at him in confusion. “There are rooms, right over there. Pick one, go in it, and close the door. I’m going on watch.”

Disentangling from each other with some difficulty, Evelyn and Fenris stumbled toward the three antechambers, falling against the nearest door. The elf’s hands were caressing Evelyn’s stomach, hers tangled in his white hair.

Bethany felt odd watching her sister be made love to, but somehow she couldn’t look away. Her body was flushed with heat. Part of it was the ale, part of it was embarrassment, but part … She didn’t dare contemplate. 

Evelyn fumbled behind her for the doorknob, and she and Fenris half-fell into the room, the door slamming shut behind them. 

Varric had gotten up and left the room, and Bethany could hear him talking softly to Bianca in the hallway as he stood watch. 

A hand moved up her leg, and Bethany jumped, having completely forgotten Isabela was there.

“Don’t worry, sugar,” the pirate breathed in her ear, sending shivers down Bethany’s spine. “I’ll be gentle.” It was on the tip of Bethany’s tongue to protest, but Isabela laid a finger over her lips. “If you don’t like it, we won’t do it again …” Her finger trailed down over Bethany’s throat and between her breasts to her stomach, and without conscious thought Bethany moved with it. “But I think you’ll like it,” Isabela finished, her chuckle as dark and rich as the ale.

Isabela cupped Bethany’s breast, squeezing gently, and Bethany sank her teeth into her lower lip to stifle a moan. Just that small pressure sent sparks through her. Isabela held the mouth of the jug over Bethany’s lips, letting a single dark drop fall. Bethany eagerly held her tongue out for the liquid, and then Isabela’s mouth was covering hers, the exotic spicy taste of her mouth mingling with the strange sweetness of the ale. Bethany couldn’t get enough. Her arms moved around Isabela, holding the pirate close as they explored each other’s mouths deeply and hungrily. 

A whimper of disappointment escaped Bethany when Isabela pulled away, but changed swiftly to an excited moan when the pirate’s mouth closed on one of her hardened nipples. She had no idea where her clothes had gone, or when, but it mattered not at all, as Isabela’s teeth and tongue caressed her nipple. Isabela’s hands were stroking her stomach, the muscles quivering under the attention. Bethany wriggled, her insides on fire, and raised her hips to bump against Isabela’s.

The pirate obliged the silent signal, one hand moving between Bethany’s legs, her finger sliding deep inside. Bethany’s head fell back into the cushions, her eyes closing, as a second finger and then a third joined the first, and Isabela’s thumb rubbed in little circles. 

The world had contracted to nothing but Isabela’s lips and hands on her body, the fires burning beneath her skin, and the release that hovered just out of Bethany’s reach as she strained against Isabela. And then Isabela’s tongue joined her fingers between Bethany’s legs, and the tension that had been building inside Bethany snapped, a starburst of colors exploding behind her eyes, the muscles in her stomach rippling with the force of her climax. She sank back into darkness, falling into the depths of the Fade, into soft clouds that cushioned her and a warmth that wrapped around her.

Isabela pulled a blanket up around both of them, stretching out next to the sleeping woman at her side, and soon she, too, slept.


	2. The Sword

In the morning, Hawke stumbled to the door of the little room she and Fenris had collapsed in. Her head was pounding, and she remembered why black ale was such a bad idea. 

As she entered the main room, she heard Varric chuckling. “Here’s another one, Rivaini. Make two of those while you’re at it.”

Evelyn flung a hand over her eyes against the light, which wasn’t any too bright but was still too much for her in her current state. “Two of what?” she croaked warily.

“Hangover cures. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot better when you have one of those down you. Sunshine’s still working on hers.”

Staggering to the chair Varric was holding for her, Evelyn sank into it gratefully, reaching for the glass Isabela handed her, before common sense reasserted itself. “Where did you find the makings for a hangover cure in the middle of the Carta’s hideout?”

Varric laughed. “Who do you think invented this stuff? Carta members drink hard and still need to be at their best the next day.”

“Is that on the brochure?” Hawke tilted up the glass, nearly dropping it when the smell hit her. “What’s in this stuff?”

“Don’t ask,” Bethany said. “You don’t want to know.”

“You’re a mage, why can’t you cure hangovers, without having to drink something this …” She held her breath and tilted the glass up, draining it as fast as she could. 

“It doesn’t work that way, sister. Besides, the way I felt this morning, I couldn’t have cured myself, much less you.” Bethany was blushing, for some reason. Evelyn narrowed her eyes suspiciously, studying her sister. What was there to blush about down here? And then Isabela bent over Bethany, the pirate’s browned hand brushing the hair back from Bethany’s pale forehead, and Evelyn knew. Automatically, she wanted to jump up and yell at her friend for corrupting her sister—but she felt foolish for the mere impulse. Evelyn closed her eyes, instead, willing her stomach to settle. 

She heard the faint scuff of feet that indicated Fenris was awake, and turned to see him smiling at her, his eyes bright and clear. “I hate you,” she muttered. “Just once, can’t you be hung over?”

Fortunately for him, he had learned not to be smug about this. He walked across the room and began to rub her shoulders, working the knots out of her neck. 

“All right, you’re forgiven,” Evelyn sighed, leaning back against him.

“If we’re all finished being lovey-dovey,” Varric said, “I suspect we should get moving. There was movement down in the depths of this place last night. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but I don’t think we should let it get here.”

“More Carta?” Hawke asked.

“Probably.”

“Great. You think this Corypheus person is down there?”

Varric shook his head. “I don’t think so, Hawke. Corypheus isn’t exactly a popular dwarven name.”

“It sounds Tevinter,” Fenris put in.

“You think some Tevinter magister is after me?”

“Unless it is a trap for me.” 

Evelyn tilted her head back to look up at him. “Well, they can’t have you. I’ll just have to explain that to them.”

“To the entire Tevinter nation?” Fenris raised an eyebrow.

“If I have to.” She stood up, putting a hand on his arm. “Stop worrying about the Tevinters.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Hawke gave his arm a parting squeeze before armoring up. “Let’s get a move on,” she said to the others. “Whoever this Corypheus is, I’d like to deal with him before nightfall.”

“Ah, Hawke, always efficient,” Varric said, shouldering Bianca. “Ready when you are.”

In a fairly short time they all were ready to start down into the depths of the Carta’s hideout. Isabela went first again, tiptoeing down the stairs and peering around a corner. She nodded at them for the all clear signal and they made their way to an open area filled with mining carts. 

A dwarf stepped out from between two of the carts, folding his arms and blocking their way. His eyes were the same milky grey-blue as all the others. 

Hawke, expecting an attack, drew her blade, but beside her she heard Varric’s voice. “Hawke, don’t.” He walked toward the new dwarf and stopped in front of him. “Gerav, what are you doing here?”

“We follow Corypheus,” Gerav said. “Join us, Varric.”

“Join you? In what, worshipping demons? Gerav, you’re sick. Let us help you.”

Gerav was shaking his head. “No demon. Corypheus.” He stepped closer to Varric, licking his lips. In a high, excited whisper, he said, “We drink the blood of the darkspawn. And then we can hear it.” His face lit up, his eyes seeing visions the rest of them could not. 

“Hear what?” Varric asked.

“The song! The beautiful, beautiful song.”

“Can’t you die from drinking darkspawn blood?” Hawke asked.

Gerav gave no sign that he had heard her. He looked at Varric. “Join us! You, too, can hear the song, Varric.”

“Bianca sings sweetly enough for me,” Varric said. “Remember Bianca, Gerav? Do you think she wants to see her papa like this?”

Hawke’s eyes met Isabela’s. Amused, the pirate mouthed “papa?” Hawke shrugged, looking at Varric. “You want to introduce me to your crazy friend?”

“Hawke, this is Gerav, one-time mad genius and now apparently just … mad. Gerav, this is Hawke, she for whose blood you appear to lust. Although I have to warn you, if you’re after eternal youth, she’s no virgin.” He grinned up at Hawke, who shook her head.

“Not the time, Varric.”

Gerav looked at Hawke, taking a step forward. “The blood of the Hawke,” he whispered.

“That’s far enough.” In a single swift movement Bianca was poised and ready to send her deadly barbs into her maker’s heart.

Hawke looked down at her friend. He wore his usual stoic expression, but she had known him long enough and well enough to see how hard this was for him. “Varric … if you want to save him … We should try.”

Varric shook his head decisively. “Not if he threatens you, Hawke.” He swallowed. “Besides, look at him. His mind’s gone. This isn’t my friend anymore.”

“We will have her!” Gerav thundered. He threw something down at his feet and a cloud of smoke rose around him. When it dissipated, he was gone and several more dwarves had appeared.

“Reinforcements!” Varric cried in outrage. “Dirty pool, old man!”

“Varric, behind you!” Isabela shouted, throwing a dagger. It grazed Gerav’s arm as he threw himself out of the shadows at Varric, but knocked him off-balance enough that Varric could get out of the way. As Fenris, Isabela, and Bethany engaged Gerav’s backup, Hawke spun to face Gerav, bringing her blade down in a heavy slashing motion. Gerav spun away, his daggers flashing as he twisted. He lunged at Varric, who countered by lifting Bianca up, catching the dagger on her stock. It made a nick in the edge of the stock that Hawke knew Varric would spend hours trying to smooth away. Dropping low, and glad she had spent so many hours practicing with Varric, she struck at Gerav’s legs with her sword, the blow landing on his shins. He howled in pain, but it wasn’t as crippling as it would have been had she managed to hit the backs of his legs instead, the bone having stopped the blade’s momentum.

Gerav turned with his daggers lifted, and stiffened, his eyes glazing over. Hawke looked down at the silver crossbow bolt protruding from Gerav’s chest, and then met Varric’s eyes. He looked at her squarely, refusing to admit to his emotions, and she wanted, as she did so often, to bend down and hug him, to let him drop the bravado for someone, anyone, if only for a minute. But he would never accept such a gesture, certainly not while the others were cleaning up the last of the crazed dwarves. So she just nodded at him, briskly, and turned away while he bent to rifle through Gerav’s pockets.

“I am wearying of these dwarves,” Fenris said as she came up to them.

“They’re not even interesting anymore,” Isabela agreed.

“That’s what bothers me,” Hawke said. “This Corypheus seems to have so many dwarves at his command that he can afford to lose them in foolish assaults like this. I don’t think I like that idea.”

“They’re stupid, too,” Bethany said. “Why are they throwing themselves at us in combat, instead of waiting in ambush, or trying to pick us off one by one?”

Isabela shivered, glancing nervously at the shadows. “Don’t give them any ideas.” 

Evelyn walked over to Varric, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”

Varric trembled slightly, keeping his face averted from her. “He was a brilliant son-of-a-nug, had some amazing ideas about weaponry. He spent years trying to design the perfect repeating crossbow; Bianca was the only one that ever worked. Never thought he’d end up like this, fodder for some sanity-eating maniac.” He shook his head. “Shouldn’t’ve happened this way.” Reaching out, he gently closed Gerav’s eyes; Hawke heard a single strangled sound from him that was the closest she’d ever known Varric to come to crying. She kept her hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, and Varric put his on top of hers. “Thanks, Evelyn. I’m all right now.”

He’d never used her first name before, not in all the time they’d known each other. “I love you, Varric.”

“Please, Hawke, not so loud. I like my heart right where it is, thank you, rather than yanked out of my chest by a jealous husband.” His voice was back to normal, the usual cynical smile spreading across his face. “Let’s go see what other traps this Corypheus has lying in wait for us.” He patted Bianca gently. “Bianca and I have a personal score to settle with him now. She’s ready to give him a tongue-lashing.”

“Richly deserved,” Hawke agreed.

The others had finished cleaning out the fallen dwarves’ valuables. With Isabela taking point again, they moved farther into the depths of the building. Suddenly, there was a clanging sound above their heads.

“Watch out!” Isabela called as a metal gate slammed down, narrowly missing Bethany, who jumped out of the way just in time.

“Someone does not want us leaving,” Fenris observed.

“Really. You think?” Varric snapped. 

From the darkness in front of them came the resounding trumpet of a bronto. “Great,” Hawke said. “They have pets.”

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that they’re inviting us to a lunch of hearty bronto steaks,” Varric said.

“No point in that, Varric,” Hawke said. “We didn’t bring any of the good steak sauce.”

“Way to look on the bright side.”

As if his words had been a code, suddenly the room was lit by a glowing ball suspended from the ceiling.

“That wasn’t you, Bethany, was it?” Hawke asked, knowing the answer before Bethany said no. “They have a mage. Isn’t that interesting.”

“Coterie, too? Who is this Corypheus?” Varric asked. 

“Sometimes Coterie mages hire out to the Carta,” Isabela pointed out.

A heavily armored dwarf came toward them out of the shadows, and the bronto followed him.

“That’s not steak,” Bethany said, her voice trembling slightly.

“Not yet, Sunshine. Give us a chance, will you?”

The dwarf came toward them. “Hawke! I thought you were going to be trouble.”

“I aim to please.”

“But you will come with us, you and the other child of Malcolm Hawke. I have sworn to Corypheus that we will bring him Malcolm Hawke’s blood, and what Corypheus wants, Corypheus gets.”

“Lucky sod,” Isabela said.

“Come on, Rivaini, what have you ever wanted that you didn’t get?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Hush!” Hawke said to them both. “How much blood is it that Corypheus wants, exactly?”

“Sister!”

“It’s just a question.” She looked back at the dwarf. “Are we talking opening a vein, or a whole kidney, or …”

“We will take it all!” The dwarf raised rapt eyes to the ceiling. “Corypheus! The sacrifice is here! You will see the surface once more.”

“Hawke, it appears that your blood, or Bethany’s, is required to free this Corypheus. Blood magic.” Fenris made a face. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said to the dwarf, “but our blood is in use right now. Can this wait, say, seventy-some-odd years until we’re done with it?”

The dwarf made no response to her other than to raise his fist in the air and give a loud cry. Instantly a troop of archers appeared on a platform above their heads, and the bronto ducked its head, trumpeting in response to the dwarf’s call. 

“Bethany, the bronto,” Evelyn said quickly, drawing her sword. 

“Right, sister.” Immediately the bronto was enveloped in a frosty white shield.

The dwarf gave another cry, this one outraged, and he threw himself forward, his giant blade sweeping the air in front of him. Hawke jumped back just in time. Varric turned Bianca’s face toward the archers, directing her song at them.

Isabela was swarming a rope that led to the upper platform, a knife gripped between her teeth. She leaped off the rope, landing on the platform, and the knife found a home in the windpipe of the nearest archer before he had time to realize that she was there. Hawke side-stepped the archer’s falling body, parrying a sudden hard thrust of the lead dwarf’s sword. Fenris was taking advantage of the bronto’s frozen condition to close in on it, his markings glowing brightly. As the frosty coating melted, Fenris thrust his hand inside the bronto before it had time to move again, ripping its heart out with a single fierce tug. It fell to the ground, and the dwarf with the big sword cried out in anguish. His attack on Hawke became more frenzied. But now Fenris had joined her, and the two of them were more than a match for a single dwarf, no matter how powerful or motivated, and he fell at last, landing on top of the sword. A blue light came from it as soon as he had dropped it, and Hawke’s eyes were drawn to it immediately. Something was calling to her, tugging at her very blood.

“Sister? What is that?” Bethany asked. She, too, was moving closer to the glow. The other dwarves had all fallen, but Evelyn barely noticed, her attention focused on the strange glow and her need to get closer to it.

Isabela dropped from the platform above, landing lightly next to the dwarf. She bent to turn him over.

An irrational panic seized Hawke. “Don’t touch him!”

Startled, the pirate looked up. “Sorry, didn’t realize this one was special.”

“Hawke?” 

Dimly she registered the concern in Fenris’s voice, but all she could focus on was following the pull of whatever it was that was trapped beneath the dwarf’s body. She reached out with her boot, shoving at him more and more viciously until the body turned over.

“What’s with her?” she heard Varric mutter.

“I do not like this,” Fenris replied. “It appears to be some type of possession.”

“Great. Just what we needed. Hawke possessed.”

She paid them no attention; they weren’t important. Hawke knelt next to the dwarf. The blue glow emanated from the giant sword he had carried. Her hands reached out for it of their own volition, grasping the hilt.

It was as if something from the sword was crawling inside her body. Hawke stood, unable to let go of the sword, bracing herself against the sensation. 

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted.

“I can feel it … inside me,” she managed to gasp. The sword moved in her hands as if it was alive. And then it was over. The glow receded, but still she could feel the pull inside her, as if the sword was connecting her to something, someone. “This will lead me to Corypheus,” she said with confidence. How she knew, she couldn’t have said, but the knowledge was there.

Fenris was looking at her with concern and a hint of fear. She could understand the emotion—this smacked of Tevinter blood magic—but his obsession made her impatient. “It’s just a tool, Fenris. Nothing more.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s good for anything else,” Varric said critically, studying the blade. “Can you actually fight with that thing?”

Hawke looked down the blade. She had to admit, it was probably the ugliest sword she had ever seen; oversized, even for a greatsword, with a gaudy collection of gems around the hilt. The blade itself seemed more like bronze than steel, and she shared Varric’s skepticism about it as a fighting weapon, even though the dwarf she’d fought had wielded it normally.

“Can you put it down?” Bethany asked, and Hawke recognized that as a valid concern. 

Her hands didn’t want to let go, but she forced them open, the sword falling to the floor. Fenris breathed a perceptible sigh of relief; everyone else less so, but Hawke could tell it was a weight off their minds. The sword still called to her, but it wasn’t glowing and there wasn’t that sensation of something inside her. “Do you feel it?” she asked Bethany. “Blood of the Hawke and all that, can you feel it calling you?”

Bethany stared at the sword for a few moments before shaking her head. “No.”

Something in Hawke was relieved that she didn’t have to share the sword, and she swallowed against the apprehension she felt. To admit to it would be to give Fenris entirely too much encouragement. She bent down, picking up the sword. “At least this gives us some direction in the search for Corypheus.”

“It’s no Bianca,” Varric said, “but I guess it’ll do.”

They all fell in behind Hawke as she moved into the dark space ahead of them, following the urging of the sword.


	3. Down and In

The sword thrummed in Hawke’s hands as she descended the stairs. Ahead of her she could hear the sounds of someone moving, and she went faster, taking the stairs two at a time and hoping she didn’t miss one and fall down into the darkness. Who knew what lay ahead of them? Dimly burning lanterns lined the walls, providing just enough light to see by, but not illuminating the shadows in the corners at all. The silence behind her told Hawke her companions were still tense about what had happened with the sword. She wasn’t too sure about it herself. Why did this large, hideous weapon call to her so? That wasn’t normal. But she knew instinctively that it would lead her to Corypheus, and she was willing to trust it at least that far, no matter what happened with it afterward.

She glimpsed movement ahead—three more Carta dwarves were scurrying into the deep shadows at the bottom of the stairs. Just as she got in sight of them, they took off up another set of stairs. A loud boom followed their departure.

“Uh, Hawke? Little problem back here.”

“What?” She hadn’t realized how tense she was until she heard the sharpness in her tone. Varric heard it, too, his raised eyebrows saying everything his mouth wasn’t.

“Door’s locked, crumpet,” Isabela said, gesturing behind her with her thumb. An orange glowing barrier sealed off the top of the stairs.

“Fenris?” 

At Hawke’s question, he nodded, activating his markings and attempting to push his fist through the door. “I’m afraid not.”

“Bethany?”

The mage wrinkled her forehead, focusing her magics, but nothing broke through the barrier.

“So, the only way out is to keep going. Wonderful.” Varric frowned.

“Let’s, then. No reason to waste time,” Evelyn said crisply, feeling the thrum of the sword tugging at her blood.

“Perhaps we should exercise caution,” Fenris said. “We do not know what may lie ahead.”

She swallowed the irritation she felt at his words. “You’re right. Isabela?”

“Dark stairs and a tower full of who knows what? My pleasure.” She turned to Bethany. “Kiss for luck, cupcake?”

Bethany blushed, looking away, and Isabela gave a low chuckle before disappearing into the shadows. Evelyn followed closely, almost stepping on the back of Isabela’s boot at one point. They emerged from the stairwell into a large, open room lined with jail cells. Most of them were empty, their doors wide open or sagging on their rusting hinges, but one was held shut with a mystical barrier that pulsed when Hawke came into the room. The sword in her hands pulsed along with it.

Behind her, Bethany drew in her breath, moving closer to the barrier and drawing a hand just along the edge of it. “This is … this is some kind of blood magic, I think. I can feel the conduit from here to that sword.”

“Really?” Evelyn moved closer, and the barrier hummed loudly, vibrating at a more rapid pace.

“Evelyn, stop!” Bethany called out, but it was too late; the barrier broke. Behind it were confined a number of shades, packed together in the little cell. Bethany stepped back, hastily throwing up a shield in order to give Evelyn a moment to get set and herself a chance to move out of the line of the shades’ advance.

Lifting the sword—not without some misgivings as to whether it was actually good enough to fight with—Evelyn waited for Bethany’s shield to come down and the shades to spill forth. As they did, she swept the sword in front of her. It was a bit duller than what she was used to fighting with, but it cut through the pudding-like bodies of the shades well enough. The inky black goo oozed out of the holes and several shades melted into the floor. Fenris sliced through one next to her, and Isabela poked holes in another with her dagger. In no time, the shades were nothing but spreading puddles on the floor.

A strange sensation rippled through Evelyn, chills followed by a wave of nostalgia. 

“Sister, did you feel that?” Bethany was blinking, her eyes wet.

Before Evelyn could respond, a voice spoke, solemn and hushed. “I can do nothing about the Wardens’ use of demons … but none will say that my magic released one.”

“Bethany.”

“I heard it. But how can it be?”

“How can what be?” Fenris was at Evelyn’s side, looking at her with concern and curiosity.

“That’s Father’s voice.”

“Your father’s voice, the Carta after your blood for this Corypheus, that sword … Bit of a Hawke mystery here,” Varric said.

“I don’t like it. Father never mentioned having been to the Vimmarks, or this fortress.” Hawke looked at the sword with renewed suspicion. The thrum of it in her hand was disturbing … but it was also becoming disturbingly familiar. It called to her to keep moving. “Let’s go.”

“Perhaps I should carry that for you,” Fenris suggested, eyeing it warily.

“As soon as we’re out of here, I’ll let you melt it down,” Hawke said, squeezing his hand. He looked a little reassured.

Behind her, Isabela walked with Bethany. “Strange to hear your dad’s voice all the way out here?”

“’Strange’ doesn’t begin to cover it,” Bethany answered. “It’s … it’s been so long since I heard him. I wish—“

“He taught you a lot, then?”

“Everything I knew until I went to the Circle. What about your father?”

Isabela shrugged. “Not much to say. He died young. Lots of men in Rivain do.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Bethany started to reach for Isabela’s hand, to comfort her, but the pirate shied away. 

“It was a long time ago. Never needed him anyway. What’s that up ahead?”

Successfully distracted, Bethany peered into the darkness. “Darkspawn? Oh, dear.”

Before Bethany could get off more than a single blast of power, the others had taken care of the darkspawn. It was daunting, fighting with her sister’s team. When Bethany had been taken to the Gallows, they had all still been learning each other’s rhythms, but they were a single unit now. Bethany couldn’t help but wonder if she was more help or distraction to them, since they weren’t used to her magic. 

“Hey, Hawke, look at this,” Varric called. He held a grimy scrap of parchment in his hand, peering at it in the dim light. Bethany conjured a glowing ball of light, sending it to hover over the dwarf’s shoulder. “Thanks. Brought your own sunshine, did you?” He smiled at her, a gentle, affectionate smile, the kind he kept for those he deemed worthy of protection. 

“What does it say, Varric?” Evelyn asked.

He turned the page in the light, squinting at the faded writing. “Darkspawn … Corypheus … Warden prison. They must have built this place for Corypheus, then? Only thing I can make out.”

“Great. So the Wardens locked up the puppy and didn’t come back to feed it?” Isabela shook her head. “Naughty Wardens.”

Bethany had wandered ahead. Through a doorway she saw a bent, twisted figure picking through rubble up ahead. She watched it for a moment. This was not a darkspawn, nor did he seem to be of the Carta—he was too tall to be a dwarf. She wondered at the stained and faded tabard he wore. Those colors … “Um, speaking of Wardens,” she said softly.

Fenris heard her first, coming to join her in the doorway. 

“What is he?” Bethany whispered.

“That appears to be a Grey Warden tabard, if I recall correctly.” He called for the others. Evelyn put a casual hand on his shoulder as she leaned around him to look at the figure in the rubble. Bethany saw the sudden happiness that lit Fenris’s eyes at Evelyn’s touch and felt a pang of jealousy. No one had ever looked that way because she touched them.  
Evelyn took her eyes off the man they were watching and glanced over her shoulder at the sword, almost as though she was listening to it. Bethany shivered. She was glad the enchanted item was a sword and not a staff. But really— “Why isn’t it a staff?”

“What’s that, Sunshine?”

“If Father’s involved, and his blood is calling to our blood, why is it in a sword? Father was a mage.”

Evelyn looked at the sword, frowning. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the sword—maybe there’s something attached to it? Some enchantment the Carta could have put on any weapon.”

“The Carta aren’t known for their brains, Hawke, but they usually have the sense to pick decent weaponry. I can’t see any Carta member using that sword.”

“Unless they wanted to be certain her fighting abilities were compromised when she carried it,” Fenris pointed out. 

“Good point.”

Evelyn shrugged. “It seemed to work fine against the shades. I think you’re all making too much of the whole thing. It’s just a sword.”

Bethany didn’t believe her, but it was clear the conversation was over, as Evelyn was striding forward, the sword in her hand. 

“You there! Who are you?”

The figure looked up, and they could all clearly see the dark splotches of taint on his face.

“Venhedis!” Fenris hissed, and went after Evelyn. Bethany didn’t know what that meant, but she agreed with the sentiment expressed in his tone. Her sister was going to get herself killed someday, walking into trouble like that. Varric was grinning nonchalantly, Bianca on his shoulder, as he strolled after Fenris. Isabela slung an arm over Bethany’s shoulders.

“You think she’s crazy, don’t you?” At Bethany’s raised eyebrows, the pirate chuckled. “All right, she might be possessed by that sword-looking thing. But that’ll pass. Broody will melt it down into earrings before he lets anything happen to her … and that’s why she’s not crazy. She goes charging into battle, and Fenris and Varric go charging right along with her.”

“What about you?”

“Mostly me, too. She makes you want to charge, you know? Just … today hanging back seems a bit more interesting.” Isabela winked.

“Maybe we should go see what’s going on,” Bethany said nervously. Her skin tingled with the hazy memories of last night’s touches, and she wanted to ask the pirate if they could do it again. But … did she? Every relationship she had embarked on had gone badly—she didn’t even have to close her eyes to picture Anders in little bits scattered across the cobblestones, or Orsino as that bloated abomination falling into the murky waters of Kirkwall harbor. Not to mention that with Isabela, ‘relationship’ was hardly likely to be an option. When they emerged from this dark hole in the ground, the pirate would no doubt find someone else to dally with. Still … Bethany shivered at the memory of the sensations the other woman had drawn from her body. No one had ever made her feel quite that way before. Would it hurt to feel it again once more—maybe a few times more? 

“Copper for your thoughts,” Isabela breathed into her ear.

Bethany cleared her throat, pulling away. “I think we should go see if my sister needs any help.”

“That’ll be the day,” Isabela said, but she followed Bethany to where the others were, in the middle of a stone bridge across a deep chasm. The bent, wizened figure was speaking to Hawke, but as Bethany came up  
his eyes moved to her as if magnetized.

“The blood of the Hawke! The magic is in you, I can sense it. But you,” he turned to Evelyn, “you hold the Key. How is that? Same blood … same … sisters?” He seemed to be searching for the right word. Bethany wondered how long he had been down here with no one to speak to but the darkspawn. 

“Who are you?” Evelyn asked sharply. “What’s wrong with you?”

Bethany put a hand on her sister’s arm. They wouldn’t get anywhere bullying this man. “My name is Bethany,” she said, speaking slowly to be sure he understood. “Who are you? Are you a Grey Warden?”

“Warden. Wardens, yes!” he said, his face brightening as he recognized the word. “Wardens guard against the Blight.”

“Yes, they do. Are you one of them?”

He nodded. 

“And you live here?”

“Live … live … life. What is life? I do not know.” The wrinkled old face looked sad.

“Oh, this guy’s a bundle of laughs,” Varric muttered. 

“We’re not getting anything useful out of him,” Evelyn said. She raised the sword slightly.

“No!” Bethany closed both hands around her sister’s arm. “Just give me a minute, will you? If you scare him, he won’t talk at all.” After a moment, Evelyn nodded, and Bethany turned to the wrinkled, wizened old man. “You said something about a Key? Is the sword the Key?”

He nodded several times, his head practically bouncing up and down.

“What does the Key do? Does it unlock Corypheus’s cell?”

“No! No, you must not! He sleeps, and must not be wakened.”

“How can he be sleeping?” Evelyn scoffed. “He’s been sending murderous dwarves after us.”

“Apparently you’re quite the nightmare, Hawke,” Varric said, but no one smiled at his sally.

The old man scratched his head. “He speaks, but he still slumbers.”

“How do we kill him?” Isabela asked, but the old man just looked at her blankly. Clearly the concept was a new one to him.

“More to the point, how do we get out of this damned tower?” Fenris asked.

That question seemed to reach the man. “Down and in,” he said. “Down and in, down and in, down and in.” He wandered away, still humming the words over and over again.

“Well, that was creepy,” Varric said, staring after him. “Should we follow the guy?”

“Follow the crazy person? Why would we do that?” Bethany asked.

“Isn’t that what we do? Better the crazy you know …” Isabela said, poking Hawke in the side.

“Very funny. Just for that, you lead the way,” Hawke said, but she smiled at the pirate.

“I would have anyway.” Isabela tossed a sparkling glance over her shoulder at Bethany, picking her way through the rubble. 

“Down and in?” Fenris asked quietly. “How is that a logical way to get out?”

“You’re expecting logic, elf, in this place? I thought you’d been with Hawke long enough to have given up on that kind of thing.” Varric followed Isabela, and after a long moment, Fenris followed Varric.

“You all right, sis?” Bethany asked.

“Yes. Just want to get rid of this ugly thing and go home.” Evelyn sighed. “I just want to get up every morning without having to look over my shoulder for people who are trying to kill me, Bethany. Is that so much to ask?” Without waiting for an answer, she followed the others. Bethany looked after her, thinking of the Templars back in the Circle, before bringing up the rear.


	4. Demons

The endless dark corridors of this cursed tower were beginning to depress Fenris—well, those and the sight of Hawke’s blue eyes glowing almost as brightly as that sword she’d picked up. Seeing her so clearly under the influence of the strange enchanted artifact had Fenris so on edge his teeth were chattering.

Varric seemed to sense his disquiet, or maybe the dwarf could actually hear his teeth clacking together, because he drifted backward to Fenris’s side. “You, too, eh, elf?”

“I am not enjoying this, no,” Fenris admitted. 

“I’d like to throw that thing into the depths of the abyss.”

“We are in agreement on that front.” Fenris let his eyes rest on the back of Hawke’s head, wishing they could just turn around and go home, curl up together in their own bed and … He sighed. “What do you know about this Corypheus, Varric?”

“Not a thing.”

“Aren’t you supposed to know something about everything? You always make a show of being so well-informed.”

“No spy network in forgotten crumbling darkspawn-infested towers, elf.”

“You say that, but I have never seen any sign of such a network. Tell the truth—you don’t really have one, do you?”

Varric shrugged, casting a sly grin Fenris’s way. “Could be. Could be I have an army of elven urchins at my beck and call.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You are a strange, hairy little man.”

“Spoken by a man who couldn’t grow a fine crop of chest hair if he tried.” Varric sighed dramatically. “I wonder how Hawke lives with your shortcomings.”

For a moment, Fenris considered objecting to the term “shortcomings,” but Bethany’s presence behind him dissuaded him. For all that she seemed to accept that he and Hawke were a couple, Bethany still didn’t trust him—a feeling that was mutual, after all—and he felt a certain reserve in boasting about his sexual prowess when the object of that prowess’s sister was in hearing.

“Oh, here we go,” Hawke said ahead of him, pausing in a doorway. He hurried to catch up, resting a hand on her waist, casually. She glanced at him, her blue eyes sharp. That she knew about his worry, and wasn’t pleased with it, was clear. Shaking his hand off, Hawke moved toward the center of the room, where a circular dais had been placed. It had four pillars situated around the perimeter, pillars that sent streams of energy across the dais. 

Hawke drew the clumsy sword and tried to cut through the energy with it. It bounced right off, and Hawke skirted the edge of the dais, looking calculatedly at the streams of energy. Then she looked at the sword again, and held out her hand, looking at that. 

“No!” Fenris shouted. “Hawke, no. This is blood magic. You cannot be considering this.”

She didn’t even look up, scraping the pad of one finger along the edge of the blade and then holding the bleeding digit over the streams of energy. Blood slowly dripped from her finger, and the streams stopped. Fenris waited, tensely gripping the hilt of his own sword. And, as he had expected, a demon appeared. A giant, horned demon that appeared to be made of solid flame.

“Just had to mess with the seals, didn’t you, Hawke?” Varric called out. Bianca grunted in agreement and sent a sharp remark slicing through the demon’s arm. It merely howled, flexing the arm, and stomped one large foot, shaking the ground.

“I don’t like that,” Isabela called out, circling around to the other side of the room. “A few more stomps like that one, the whole tower could fall.” She disappeared in a cloud of smoke, reappearing behind the demon and burying her daggers in its flaming flesh.

“Maybe it would take this Corypheus with it,” Hawke suggested. She swung the sword at the demon, making contact, but the blade did little damage. 

Fenris ran across the room, sweeping his own trusted blade ahead of him and catching the demon firmly across the midsection. Apparently all that did was enrage the creature. It raised its arms and yelled, and a circle of blue light formed around it. Fenris remembered dimly having been in this much pain a few times while in Danarius’s clutches, but never since. He couldn’t move and jolts of electricity shook his body uncontrollably. Hawke was in the same position. Bethany and Varric had been outside the range of the circle last time he’d looked; he hoped the two of them could end this creature before he and Hawke gave out.

A blizzard, cold and shrieking with wind, centered around their location, and the demon flailed around within it, clearly unable to see its attacker. Fenris could hear Bianca calling out above the winds, see the shining barbs of her song embed themselves in the demon’s flesh. And then the winds died down, leaving nothing but a fall of snow in their place, and the demon fell, its circle of power fading. Fenris stumbled and nearly fell, but Hawke was there, catching him with her strong arms. The sword was still firmly in her hand, and Fenris wondered if the sword had helped her withstand the pain of the circle of energy, or if his lyrium had augmented it and made it harder on him. It didn’t matter, not with her arms around him. 

“Are you all right?” she asked him, her blue eyes soft with concern. Fenris nodded, and she let him go, turning to the pillars around the circular dais. The energy streams were gone now, but something seemed to be bothering her. She fumbled with that damned sword, holding it out toward the pillar. Light arced between sword and pillar, and Hawke bared her teeth, holding her own against it. 

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted in alarm, but she waved him back.

And then it was over, and Hawke was staring at the sword strangely.

“What is it?” Varric asked, drawing closer now that the imminent danger had passed.

“It’s … cold. I think it’s been enchanted.”

“Ooh, really?” Isabela reached out and touched the thing, drawing her fingers back. “Icy. Nice.”

“Defeat the demon, enchant the sword,” Varric said. “Not bad.”

“Two thousand years the magic holds,” came the wrinkled old man’s voice from the shadows of a corner. Fenris whirled around, startled. None of them had known the old man was there. He hobbled forward now, his eyes pinned on Hawke. “You are the Hawke, the blood of the Hawke, I see it now. You have come to break the spell, to slay the creature. The Key has taken the magic back into itself.”

As if the Key needed more magic, Fenris thought, shifting uneasily in place. He wished he had wrested that damned sword from Hawke’s hands at the top of this Blighted tower and thrown it into the abyss. Of course, the way things were going, no doubt she’d have stumbled over it again once they reached the bottom, still in perfect condition. He shivered, hating this place far more than he had the Deep Roads.

Hawke was regarding the old man coolly. “So you know who I am—do you have a name?”

“Name.” He ruminated over the concept for a moment. “Name, yes. I was … Larius. And there was a, a title, too, yes. Commander. Commander of the Grey!” He looked up at Hawke, proud to have called those cobwebbed details from the recesses of his brain. “But that was before. I am dead, yes, but I never died.”

“Commander of the Grey!” Varric said softly. “Well, if this is how Grey Wardens end up, I think I understand Blondie a lot better now.”

Hawke and Bethany shot the dwarf equally quelling looks—neither of them liked to be reminded of Anders. Fenris thought the dwarf had a point—it was a view of the Grey Wardens he had never seen, and for the first time he understood why the mage would have chosen to become an abomination rather than have his life endlessly prolonged as half-man, half-darkspawn. 

“The last to hold the Key, the Hawke, I was there when he laid the seals.”

“Father did this?” Bethany said, her face white with shock. “Why wouldn’t he have told us?”

“Sunshine, look around you. Do you ever want to tell anyone about this place?” 

“Good point, Varric,” Hawke said. “Father must have worked with the Wardens before he and Mother left Kirkwall.”

“Yes, it was before … before this.” Larius gestured to himself. He looked at Hawke, squinting to see her more clearly. “You favor him.”

“Or this thing could be lying.” Hawke’s lip curled in a sneer. “I don’t favor my father; I look nothing like him. Bethany favors him.”

“Looks, looks, what are looks? Your spirit favors his, I can see it glowing.”

Fenris liked this all less and less the more Larius spoke.

“That’s true, sister,” Bethany said softly. “I look like Father, but you act like him.”

Hawke glanced at her sister sideways. There was a volume spoken in that glance, of an entire life Fenris did not entirely understand. He wished he remembered his own mother and sister in more than flashes, if only so that he could be more aware of the impact of Hawke’s family on her life. Hawke had been the protector, trained to it by her father, and had, he gathered, been very much left to her own devices as her parents worried over the twins. But she rarely wanted to discuss that part of her life, and Fenris often forgot to ask about it, as family was such an absent part of the all-too-clearly-recalled time he had spent with Danarius.

Larius’s head snapped to the side as if yanked by invisible strings. “He calls! Corypheus … From the darkness, he calls. What waits there?” With surprising speed for a man of his advanced age and deteriorated condition, he hobbled away, disappearing into the shadows.

“That guy is creepy,” Isabela said, staring after him. “Are we following him?”

“Down to go up, he said,” Hawke answered. “We’ll follow the stairs, let this Larius person catch up to us if he has something important to say.” She strode forward toward yet another set of stairs that led down into blackness, that damnable sword stretched in front of her.

“Ten gold pieces for anyone who will rip that thing out of her hand,” Isabela muttered.

“Does ten gold pieces pay for a new luxuriant growth of chest hair after she tears mine out? I don’t think so.” Varric and Bethany took off after Hawke, leaving Fenris and Isabela to bring up the rear.

“Wouldn’t it be nicer to be on a big boat out in the middle of the ocean?”

“You think that would be preferable to all other activities.”

“Not all.” Isabela grinned, her eyes fixed ahead of them.

“Speaking of that …”

“You cheeky bastard! What would Hawke say?” She punched him in the arm.

Fenris cast her a weary glance. “Please. Do not be ridiculous. Especially when you know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Being ridiculous gets me out of a lot of serious conversations. It’s quite useful. And what business is it of … anyone’s, really? She’s a big girl.”

“She is still Hawke’s baby sister.”

“The little bird’s got to grow some wings eventually, and the big mama has to let her fly.” Isabela shrugged. “I’m just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”

“Is it? Bethany does not seem the sort of person to view ‘a bit of fun’ the same way you do. Please consider the feelings you are creating. I do not look forward to having to stand between you and Hawke while she attempts to punish you for hurting her sister.”

Narrowing her eyes, Isabela frowned. “I see your point,” she conceded at last.

“Excellent.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs now, and were standing in yet another ruined chamber of crumbling stone. A barred cell held a desire demon in what appeared to be an extremely painful stasis. Hawke bared her teeth, rushing toward the cell with the sword lifted, pulsing visibly in her hands. The air rippled in front of her as she approached, the demon gasping as life and strength returned to her, but she was beheaded by Hawke’s blade almost before she could move. The shades that rose from the dark corners were dispatched as quickly by the rest of the crew. 

As the inky pools of dead shades dried on the floor, a voice resounded in the chamber, floating across the room as if an invisible speaker walked. “My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base.”

Evelyn and Bethany’s heads snapped around, their eyes glued to the empty air the voice emanated from. “Father,” Bethany whispered. “That’s what he always said.” 

“That’s his voice,” Evelyn said tremulously. Her eyes glittered, and she clutched the sword reflexively tighter. She spoke little of her father, although Fenris knew they had been close. “Bethany, could his spirit be trapped here? Could that be why our blood is so important?”

“I don’t know.” The mage looked troubled. “He died naturally, Evelyn. I don’t see how—or why—his spirit could have been caught here. I think this is … something else.” 

“We do no good standing here and wondering,” Fenris said. He took Evelyn gently by the elbow, leading her forward. “Perhaps answers lie ahead.”

“They’d better. This Corypheus is going to owe me a few answers by the time I get to him.”

Isabela walked next to Bethany. “How are you holding up, sweet thing?”

Blushing bright red, Bethany whispered, “Don’t call me that! She’ll hear you.”

“So … do you not want me to call you that because your sister might hear me, or because you don’t like it?” Isabela glanced at Bethany with curiosity, and smiled at the mage’s obvious confusion. “Someday there has to be a difference between what you want and what your sister wants.”

“There always has been. She’s never approved of the men I—“

“No, she hasn’t, has she? Maybe you should try a woman.” 

Bethany had no answer to that, ducking her head and looking away.

Behind them, Varric patted Bianca’s behind. “Any other dwarf might get lonely, watching all this coupling, but not this one, eh, sweetheart?”

Another stone chamber, another cell with a magic barrier holding back a demon. Before Fenris could react, Hawke was screaming, the sword raised above her head, and running for the barrier, which fell before her. She cleaved through the demon’s head in one mighty stroke. Fenris whirled to slash open the pudding-like belly of a shade. Bethany froze two more; Varric shattered one with a well-placed bolt and Isabela took care of the other with her daggers.

Into the post-battle silence of the room, the now-familiar voice resounded. “I have bought our freedom, Leandra. Now we can go home and await the baby’s birth together.” The unseen voice sighed. “I hope it takes after you, love. I would not wish this magic on anyone.”

Bethany’s face whitened, as Evelyn swallowed against her emotions. “He didn’t mean it,” she said, turning to her sister. “Look at what he’d just been through. We both know how proud he was of you.”

“He was talking about you,” Bethany said. “You were the baby they were expecting. Do you think that’s why he did all of this, trapped all these demons, to get money to run away?”

“It was for us. Everything he did here, he did for his family. That’s what matters.” Hawke lifted the sword, looking at it again, her hand tightening on the hilt.

The next room was fairly clean; Varric had spread out a cloth and laid out a meal. The jug of dwarven ale had reappeared, as well. Evelyn shook her head on sight of it. 

“No more of that for me. Last night was quite enough.”

“Was it?” Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, you need to get me drunk now to impress me?” Hawke’s smile warmed him all through, cutting through some of his concern about the sword’s effect on her.

He was about to respond with promises of what was in store for her when he got her alone when he noticed Bethany’s face over Evelyn’s shoulder. The mage’s lips were trembling, her eyes bright with tears. She turned away, ducking into one of the empty cells. Muffled sobs issued forth from it within moments. But before Fenris could send Hawke in that direction, Isabela went around the corner of the cell, the sobs ceasing within a few moments afterward.

“Fenris?” Hawke asked. 

He decided to let Isabela handle things with Bethany—at the moment, the pirate was likely to be just as effective as Evelyn, if not more so. “Come,” he said, taking Evelyn’s arm. “Shall we have something to eat and then continue our previous discussion?”

“Oh, no,” Varric said, overhearing the comment. “You two are on watch tonight; I’m getting some sleep.”

“If you must.” Hawke grinned at her friend. “If you ask me, sleep is overrated anyway.”

“That all depends on who you have to not sleep with,” Varric grumbled. He found a pile of straw in the back of one of the cells, and shortly was snoring softly, a faint whistle in the air for which Fenris was grateful, as it distracted from sounds emanating from the other cell that were emphatically not snores.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Evelyn asked, gesturing toward the cell her sister was in.

Fenris took her hand, stroking her fingers. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

She smiled at him. “You know I do.”

“Your sister, may I remind you, does not. And that has never prevented you from doing as you please.”

Evelyn looked at him squarely for a moment. “Hmph.”

“Indeed.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and she, too, was asleep in a very short period of time, while Fenris held her, content to be exactly where he was.


	5. At the Bottom of the Tower

‘Morning’, such as it was in the depths of this infernal temple, came when all the others awakened. Fenris’s arm was stiff from the pressure of Hawke’s head against it as she slept, but he would not have had it any other way. Bethany appeared embarrassed and Isabela was on the defensive, acting the brash, bold pirate for all she was worth … and checking occasionally to see if Bethany was paying attention.

Varric watched them all, as always, with that faint hint of a knowing smile on his face. Occasionally, Fenris itched to bury his fist in the middle of that smirk.

Very shortly after they got started, however, Fenris had better things to fight than Varric’s superiority complex. Darkspawn appeared in their path, their twisted, blackened faces snarling. Hawke shrieked in response. Swiftly, she rushed three of the creatures, her blade sweeping in front of her and scoring their stomachs. Black blood spewed from them.

“Don’t get the blood on you!” Isabela shouted. 

Hawke danced back out of the path of the blood. The hurlocks she had injured were on their knees now, clutching their stomachs. Two more were approaching her, and in whirling to deal with them, she lost track of Isabela.

All of them had: Varric was being crowded backward by one of the big genlocks, Fenris had his hands full with a giant hurlock, and Bethany was trying to pay attention everywhere at once. No one noticed the knock Isabela took on the head or the pirate falling into the field of battle until Hawke nearly stepped on her bright scarf underfoot.

“Bethany!” she shouted. She caught a blow from a hurlock’s axe on her blade and shoved him backward, pushing with her foot. He landed on his back near Fenris’s feet, and Fenris stabbed him in the gut.

Seeing her sister on the move, Hawke turned her attention to the genlocks pressuring Varric, taking them out with mighty blows of her sword to left and right. 

Rushing to Isabela’s side, Bethany went down on her knees. She trusted to her sister’s prowess, and Varric’s, and yes, to Fenris’s, as well, to keep the darkspawn off her until she could get Isabela back on her feet again. From the ashen color of the pirate’s skin, there wasn’t a moment to waste. Gently she placed a hand on Isabela’s forehead, closing her eyes to better visualize what lay beneath her fingers. The blue light of healing enveloped them both as Bethany sought and found the injured places. She spared a thought to be grateful it had been a blunt weapon; Isabela should be free of the taint.

At long last, Isabela opened her eyes, the golden depths glowing warm. Bethany sank back on her haunches, breathing in a deep sigh of relief and exhaustion.

“Aw, sweet thing, were you worried about me?” Isabela got to her feet, reaching out a hand to help Bethany up. “No need to worry about me—takes more than that to knock my lights out for good.”

“If I hadn’t been here, who would have fixed your cracked skull?”

“Her skull’s been cracked for years,” Evelyn said, grinning at the pirate. “All right, Isabela?”

“All right, Hawke.”

“Will none of you ever be serious?” Bethany stood up, putting her hands on her hips. “Isabela would have died if I hadn’t been here. How often do you go into fights without a mage to back you up?”

“We do not need a mage in every battle,” Fenris growled.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes. I do.” He stalked away.

“Don’t poke the elf, Sunshine.”

“Looked to me like the other way around, Varric,” Isabela said, crossing her arms.

“Stop it, all of you!” Evelyn snapped. “Fenris, mages are useful in combat, and we both owe our lives to them a few times over. Time to show some gratitude, despite your past.” He glared at her. “Bethany, we can’t always take a mage into combat. Sometimes the effort of protecting the mage in battle is more dangerous than not having one. We appreciate having you along now, though, and I’m glad you managed to heal Isabela’s head. We’ve all wondered if that was even possible.” 

Isabela stuck out her tongue, and Evelyn laughed.

“Now,” she went on, “can we keep going and get out of this damned place?”

Bethany uncrossed her arms and nodded, and Fenris came back over to the rest of the group. “I apologize,” he said gravely to Bethany.

“Thank you.”

Hawke took Fenris’s arm, practically dragging him along with her. “I don’t know which of us is farthest ‘round the bend.”

“Isabela.”

“You’re just saying that because she usually is.”

“Well, there is that.” If Hawke hadn’t noticed the pirate’s unusually strong attachment to Bethany, and the lack of Isabela’s typical rejection of her lovers, Fenris wasn’t going to point it out.

Hawke paused, sighing, and pointed ahead with the sword. “Oh, look. Another seal, undoubtedly another demon.”

“Everybody drink!” Isabela said merrily, digging a flask out of her boot.

“You fight better drunk?” Bethany asked, confused.

“Cupcake, I do everything better drunk.”

It wasn’t true; in point of fact, Fenris had noticed over time that Isabela rarely got drunk. Or even tipsy, for that matter. She clearly had a strong head for liquor … and a strong respect for the advantages inherent in being thought inebriated. But her flippant responses were instinctive by now. Fenris wondered if even she knew the difference between her real self and her persona.

Hawke, meanwhile, was triggering the seal, and soon they were fighting the demon. It really was growing rather tiresome, Fenris thought. Even Bianca seemed weary, her song dulled.

As the demon fell, Larius appeared from the shadows, where Fenris could have sworn he hadn’t been a moment ago. He hobbled toward Hawke, babbling almost before he was in earshot.

“Corypheus calls, louder now that you’re here. Yes, he calls like an old god, with the song, so beautiful, high above us. Yes.”

“Calls like an old god?” Varric frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Neither do I. Larius!” Hawke said sharply. “What is this Corypheus?”

“More. More than darkspawn. More than human!”

“He has nothing of value to report,” Fenris said. “Let us go.” He was profoundly disturbed by the remnants of a person standing before him; was this what Grey Wardens became? Or was Larius different from most somehow, corrupted by this Corypheus?

“I’m with the elf,” Isabela said. 

“Very well.” Hawke shouldered the sword, walking off and leaving Larius muttering to himself. 

Another flight of stairs awaited them.

At the bottom, Hawke had expected more of the same walls and walkways, with the deep chasm below. Instead, she realized with some excitement that they had finally reached the bottom. It was boggy and grey, with mist rising off the murky waters along with a terrible choking stench.

“Bethany, I don’t suppose you can do anything about that?” Hawke asked, gagging.

“What am I, your personal perfumer?”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. If mages could act as high-end purveyors of scent, the nobles might not be so quick to let them be locked up,” Varric pointed out.

“Remind me when I get back to point that out to the Knight-Commander,” Bethany said wryly. “In the meantime, breathe through your mouth.”

Varric wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to breathe this stuff in at all.”

“Then perhaps we could cease this endless discussion and just get moving?” Fenris snapped. There was something tickling at the edge of his awareness, a sound. A voice? But he couldn’t hear it quite clearly enough with all the others constantly talking.

His outburst silenced them, and he strained to hear better, but the sound continued as a faint whisper, like an itch in his ears.

“Broody, watch out!” 

Varric’s cry brought Fenris back to the present and he looked down at his feet to see an armored skeleton that he’d been about to step on. Varric knelt next to it, uncharacteristically cavalier about the muck on the knees of his pants. “This is Legion of the Dead armor.”

“Legion of the Dead?” Bethany shivered. “You mean ghouls?”

“No, it’s an Orzammar thing. They’re the criminals, the dregs of the dwarven culture … or they’re big damn heroes and the only thing standing between Orzammar and the darkspawn. Depends on how you look at it.” While he spoke, Varric was busy poking around in the armor, his fingers long accustomed to the best ways to loot a body. He pulled a worn, crumbling journal out, gingerly flipping it open.

“What’s it say, Varric?” Hawke asked.

“Whoa,” the dwarf muttered, almost to himself.

“What?” Isabela leaned over his shoulder. “What language is that?”

“Dwarva.” Varric turned another page, a flake of paper breaking off and drifting to the ground. “It says this guy was here searching for Tethras Garen, son of a Paragon. He was accused of murdering his …” He squinted at the word. “His sister. So they exiled him to the Deep Roads.” He looked up, glancing around. 

“So there is an entrance into the Deep Roads from here?” Fenris frowned. “I do not see one.”

“No. Me, neither.” Varric kept reading, absorbed in the crumbling pages. “After he was exiled, Tethras Garen was proven innocent, so they sent some Legionnaires after him, to bring him back to Orzammar. Apparently this guy, at least, never found his way out again.”

“That’s not a cheery thought,” Isabela said. She rubbed her bare arms as if she was cold, despite the muggy heat that permeated the atmosphere.

“I can swear I read that story somewhere,” Varric said, rubbing his stubbly but beardless chin. 

Fenris and Hawke looked sharply at him, then back at each other, and shrugged. Varric knew everyone’s stories but his own, it appeared. Fenris was not surprised. Varric spent his life hiding from every part of his past, both near and far.

“Let’s go,” Isabela said, setting out across the marsh and looking at the mud that clung to her boots with disgust. 

A strange twittering sound came from the darkness, and suddenly dozens of small, long-necked creatures that looked a bit like featherless geese appeared.

“Oh, how cute,” Bethany said, as the little things paused, stretching their necks out curiously toward the newcomers. One of them opened its mouth and emitted a spray of something bright and green that would have hit Bethany in the face if she hadn’t put up a hand to protect herself. They all heard the sizzle of acid on her bare skin. 

Then the creatures attacked and everyone went into motion. It was difficult to hit them, especially for Fenris and Hawke with their large blades—by the time they brought their sword down, the creature they’d been aiming for was no longer where they were striking. Varric’s luck was little better as Bianca sang valiantly but made little impact. Bethany’s spells were most useful, and Isabela’s blades flashed quickly enough to catch the little buggers before they could dodge. Still, by the time they had dispatched all of the creatures, all of them were covered in acid burns and everyone other than Hawke, who had been protected by her metal armor, sported several bites from the creatures’ sharp teeth. Between Bethany and the health poultices they carried, they managed to patch up well enough to go forward. None of them wanted to spend a minute more than was strictly necessary here in the muck, or have the chance of another nest of those strange long-necked creatures stumble upon them.

Isabela looked unhappily at a shiny burnt patch of skin on the upper curve of her breast. Elfroot was helping, but it didn’t work as fast as she would have liked. Bethany was focusing on the bites more, to prevent infection, and between those and the fight, was low on lyrium. They had a few potions on them, but not so many that it was worth using one on cosmetic injuries. “Hawke?”

“What?”

“I’ve decided something. Next time you ask if I want to help with something, I’m going to say no.”

Hawke chuckled. “You do that.” She moved on ahead with Bethany.

“Hey, Rivaini.”

“What, Varric?”

“What if Sunshine asks you for help? You gonna say no then?” The dwarf grinned at the pirate, quirking an eyebrow.

“Get stuffed,” Isabela snapped, following the others.

“Well, that raised a bigger blister than the acid.” Varric’s grin widened.

“You truly think she is serious about Bethany?” Fenris asked.

“Rivaini tries hard to pretend she’s never serious about anything … but you notice that even after Hawke got her ship back for her, she hasn’t left Kirkwall.” Varric’s eyes rested thoughtfully on Isabela’s back. “If you want to know the truth, I think Hawke’s the first person she’s ever really cared about. Other than her grandmother, who sounds scary.” The dwarf shivered.

“So you believe that Isabela has transferred her affection for Hawke to Hawke’s sister, instead?” Fenris frowned. He could not imagine such a thing … but then, Hawke’s attention had always been focused on him, even when he had tried to deny it to himself. If he had been forced to watch her with someone else? 

“You’re looking at this all wrong, elf. Don’t think of Rivaini thinking about Hawke the way you think about her. Well, not unless that’s your thing, in which case, have at it.” Varric chuckled, and Fenris tried not to think about the very disturbing image that was suddenly in his head and made him want to grab Hawke and throw her down on the nearest flat surface. Or up against the nearest wall, whichever was most convenient. Varric’s grin widened, and he could tell the dwarf knew exactly what he was thinking. “Gonna take you a while to get that one out of your head, isn’t it? You’re welcome.”

“You were making a point,” Fenris growled, irritated.

“I thought I had.” Varric chortled at his own double entendre. “Seriously, though. Hawke’s like the family Rivaini never had; she sees Bethany as a way to hold on to that connection, and deepen it in a way all her own.”

“Few people would consider Isabela capable of deep connections.”

“True. But you and I know differently. Win Rivaini once and she’s yours for life.”

The dwarf had a point, Fenris conceded. He did not imagine Hawke would be convinced by it, not when it was her younger sister’s welfare they were discussing, but after all, it was not Hawke’s decision to make. As First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle, Bethany was at the whim of whoever the Chantry assigned as Knight-Commander. He pitied her for it, but she was a mage, and mages required oversight. There was little other choice, unless someone appointed him- or herself as that mage’s personal watchdog, and he did not want Hawke to assign herself that task again. She had given enough of her life to her sister’s safety; Bethany was an adult, and must learn to take responsibility for her own powers.

He rested his gaze on Isabela’s back. While most might not consider the pirate trustworthy, Fenris certainly did. And once her emotions were engaged, she was as fierce and tenacious as any wild animal in defense of the person she cared about. If Isabela were to become attached to Bethany, Bethany’s safety would be all but assured. Isabela would look after her, and would be more than capable of handling an abomination, should the mage slip and become one.

Yes, Isabela could be the answer to many of his questions, and Hawke’s, as well. Once they were through to the end of this infernal dungeon, he would see about encouraging Isabela’s feelings toward Bethany, and the mage’s in return. Fenris couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. The idea that he had turned matchmaker! He clearly had been spending far too much time with Varric.


	6. Atrast Tunsha

“Varric, here’s another one,” Hawke called, and Varric jogged forward to join her. They stood together looking down at another body in Legionnaire armor. Varric knelt reverently next to it. He had never been one for dwarven honor, or clansmanship, or revering the past the way most dwarves did, but these small forgotten bodies stirred something in him.

He touched the cracked leather cover of the journal the dwarf held in front of him, sliding it carefully out of the skeletal hands. Slowly he opened it to the last page, touching each sheet gingerly to avoid having the paper crumble beneath his fingers.

“This was a member of the eighth group of Legionnaires sent after Tethras Garen,” he said, his voice lowering to a whisper of its own volition. “They knew it was a fool’s errand—he had to be dead—but they came anyway, because that’s what Legionnaires do. They keep going in the face of even the most impossible odds.” He patted the breastplate of the dwarf’s armor. “You died bravely, salroka.” To the best of Varric’s recollection, he had never used that word sincerely before, but it seemed apt here.

“I have to ask,” Sunshine said softly, as if she was afraid to break into his thoughts, “but is there a significance to the fact that this missing man was named Tethras?”

Varric chuckled. “Tactfully put. If I remember correctly, when Tethras Garen was declared missing, presumed dead, members of the Garen clan took the name ‘Tethras’ in his honor. Eventually, one became a Paragon in his own right—developed a faster-growing mushroom, if I recall correctly, although usually the family likes to pretend it was for something higher-minded and far less practical. From that mushroom-growing sod comes my family.”

The elf looked down at the skeletal remains of the Legionnaire. “This must be a disturbing way to find out about your family.”

There was more in those green eyes than sympathy for a dwarf, Varric could tell. There always was. And in this case it was misplaced anyway. “Oh, I already knew. This is …” But somehow he couldn’t be flip about it. The dwarf at his feet had given himself to the dust on a futile cause. Usually Varric found useless nobility of that stripe worthy of mockery, but not today. He clutched the ancient leather-bound journal to his chest. “Let’s go.”

No one had any objections to that—all of them felt the same pressure to get out of the depths of that dungeon and return to the light, by whatever means they could. More darkspawn lay in wait for them in the midst of the gassy bog they were floundering through, and they were all exhausted by the time the darkspawn lay at their feet. Sunshine burnt the tainted bodies and they all saw to it that their little supply of clean water was used to be sure they were all injury-free and washed clean of any tainted blood.

“How do darkspawn live down here?” the elf wondered. “What do they eat?”

“According to Blondie, nothing. They feed off of darkness.”

“Charming,” Rivaini observed, lifting one boot out of the mud and trying to shake the clinging ooze off. 

“Hey, watch it!” The elf leaped aside as muck splattered his leggings.

Rivaini grinned at him. “See, this is why I don’t wear pants. So hard to clean.”

“Is that why? I always wondered.” Hawke nudged the pirate in the ribs, appearing oblivious to Sunshine’s sudden flush. Varric eyed the mage with interest. He wouldn’t have pegged her as Rivaini’s type, or vice versa, but they looked awfully good together. It would make a good story—the pirate and her mage lover, mayhem on the high seas. But only if he could keep Hawke from intervening on her sister’s behalf. Not that Hawke distrusted Rivaini … but where her baby sister was concerned, Hawke was conditioned to be overprotective. And Sunshine’s choices of partner up until now hadn’t exactly been inspired. Blondie and the First Enchanter had both gone insane in a mad search for power. Rivaini, on the other hand, only seemed crazy until you got to know her. Hawke knew that as well as Varric did.

Sunshine had walked a little ahead of the rest of them, peering around the ruins of a wall. “Evelyn,” she called.

“What did you find?”

“Another one … another dwarf. I think this one’s different.” Sunshine’s pretty face was wrinkled with worry as Varric came closer to her. “I’m sorry, Varric.”

He moved faster to catch up with her, and rounding the corner of the wall, saw what she had seen. “Oh.”

“Is that him?” Hawke was hovering over his shoulder, her voice unusually soft.

“I think so.” He couldn’t have said what was so special about this set of bones. It looked pretty much like all the others—finer quality decayed armor, sure, but still roughly the same style and materials—but something about it suggested the face of the person who had inhabited those bones. Tethras Garen’s spirit was still there, Varric thought, and then mentally slapped himself for being such a sap.

“We should … say something,” Sunshine offered. “Varric, do your people say any words at such a time?”

He started to bristle, to hotly deny any such kinship with the dwarva as she was suggesting, but something stopped him. “Yes, we do. Atrast tunsha.Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc.” He knelt next to the bones for a few more moments, then stood up, clearing his throat.

“What does it mean?” the elf asked.

“I’ve got no sodding clue.” He pushed past the whole group of them. It was rare that he resented being surrounded by humans—and one very tall elf—but at this moment he did. A dwarf would have understood and shut their trap. Or offered him a drink.

“Varric.” Of course, Hawke was the only one of them who never took no for an answer. “Here.” She handed him a flask. He took a deep drink, feeling the warmth of the liquor wash through him.

“You should’ve been a dwarf, Hawke.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that. Too late now, though. I’ll have to let you shoulder the dwarfiness for both of us.”

“’Dwarfiness’? I take it back.”

“Can’t. You already said it.” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “You going to be okay?”

“I think so. Don’t know what came over me.”

“History’s a pretty tough thing to dodge, especially when it keeps shoving itself under your feet. He seems to have been quite a guy, this Tethras Garen. Must be genetic.”

Varric cleared his throat and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. The light down here was dim and murky, he told himself. That must have been why suddenly everything was blurry. It couldn’t have been tears—tears didn’t fit his image at all.

“So,” Hawke said more loudly, giving him time to recover himself, “what do you say we get out of this blighted tower? I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent quite enough time underground, thank you.”

“As a dwarf, I should take offense to that remark, Hawke, but I really, really don’t.”

They turned around and rejoined the others. Sunshine gave him a completely unhelpful sympathetic look, which he accepted gracefully because he knew she meant it well. Rivaini handed him another flask she took out of the top of her boot. Varric considered for a moment whether he’d already had enough to drink, then he glanced around at the murk that surrounded them and decided there was no such thing. He drank deeply of the smooth whiskey. The elf looked ahead, squinting in the dimness.

“I believe we should proceed in that direction,” he said in his overly ornate speech. The ladies might like that, but Varric didn’t see what was so exciting about taking half an age to say “that way.” He was a garrulous dwarf, he was the first to admit that, but at least he said something when he said something.

The elf went first, with Hawke at his side, and Rivaini followed the two of them. Her head was in constant motion, spying into all the dark corners looking for chests to open and barrels to tap. You had to admire her—she was pirate to the core.

Varric said as much to Sunshine, who nodded. They walked in silence for a few moments before Sunshine opened her mouth. “Varric?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Do you think … No, never mind. It’s foolish.”

“There are no foolish questions, Sunshine. Only fools who don’t ask.”

She frowned. “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

“Well, let me know when you figure it out. Maybe you can explain it to me.” He smiled up at her.

The mage looked as though she was about to try her question again when there was a shout from up ahead. More darkspawn. Hawke and the elf were already attacking; Rivaini had disappeared into the shadows.  
The colorful flashes of Sunshine’s magic lit up the darkness next to Varric, and for a moment he wished dwarves could be mages. It would be nice to be able to bring that kind of power to play.

“Not,” he whispered to Bianca, “that you aren’t enough f or me.” He patted her stock as she spat forth bolt after bolt, taking out the darkspawn with her customary efficiency.

With a thundering of giant feet, an oversized darkspawn thudded past, headed for Hawke. Its enormous shield swung with every step. Before Varric could get out of the way, the shield clipped him in the head, sending him sprawling. The last thing he saw before blackness closed in on him was Bianca sliding across the muddy stone floor.

Wakefulness came slowly, along with a thudding pain in his head. He frowned at Bethany’s serious eyes peering into his.

“Your pupils look all right,” she said.

“I didn’t get hit in the pupils. Can’t you do something about this pain?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. My spells don’t seem to penetrate right.”

He said a few obscene and uncomplimentary things about dwarven resistance to magic before getting to his feet. The pain intensified for a moment once he was standing, then receded to its former thud.

“Sorry, Varric.” Bethany looked crestfallen at her inability to heal him.

“No worries, Sunshine. It’s not your fault.” Something was horribly wrong, however, and he had to stop a minute to think what it was.

“Missing something?” Isabela was holding out Bianca toward him.

Varric reached for the crossbow, feeling her satin-smooth stock beneath his fingers again. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he crooned to her, cradling her gently in his arms before anxiously checking her all over for scratches. It was difficult in the dim light, but he knew every curve of her body, every surface, so well that he could tell by touch if there was anything awry. 

“Well?” Hawke asked after a few moments.

“She’s fine.”

“Excellent. Can we keep going now?” She sounded testy. Varric glanced up and saw that she had that strange, ugly sword in hand again, and it was pointed in the direction they’d been going, as if the sword wanted to keep going on its own if the rest of them weren’t ready to follow.

Fortunately, they were. In Hawke’s current frame of mind, Varric wouldn’t have wanted to slow her down any. He exchanged an unhappy glance with the elf as she led the way, striding forward like Aveline on the rampage. 

“Think we can get that thing away from her?” he asked.

“Doubtful. I attempted to do so while she slept and she woke immediately. I believe the only remedy in this situation is to kill this Corypheus.”

Remembering Gerav’s empty eyes, Varric tightened his grip on Bianca. “With pleasure.”

They followed Hawke in grim silence along a narrow ledge.

“Look! It goes up!” Sunshine’s eager voice made Varric quicken his steps. Sure enough, there was an incline, as the mucky path turned upward. He felt a pressure inside himself to rush, to run up that climb and get the sod out of this dank little hole.

He wasn’t the only one to feel that way—all the others were moving more quickly now, too, slipping and sliding in the ooze as they hurried up the stairs. It was a blissful relief to hear Hawke’s heavy boots ring on cobblestone again, and an even greater relief to see a doorway ahead that, presumably, led upward.

It was less of a relief to see another of those great seals between themselves and the door, and to have to watch Broody and Sunshine’s faces when Hawke again used her blood to open the seal. Varric was glad to have no particular views on magic. It seemed to make life a lot easier.

The giant guardian monster appeared, casting illusions of itself all over the room. Varric followed Hawke, who ran at each one in turn, but eventually stopped that and instead followed Rivaini, who always seemed to know which was the real target. 

The monster was down at last, all of them breathing hard and winded, but no one actually wounded, which Varric was sure must be a relief to Sunshine. He had noticed she tried not to use lyrium if she could avoid it, but the effort of healing required more work on her part and she had to take it more often when they got injured. 

They pushed through the room with the seal in the center to see a cobblestoned courtyard and a door that Varric devoutly hoped would lead upward. But in front of it, a less welcome sight. The monkey-faced half-Warden half-ghoul hurried toward them. Varric groaned. What now?


	7. Grey Wardens and Blood Magic

“He feels the seals weaken! He knows you are close. We must be ready!” Larius’s voice was breathless and eager, and Hawke felt revulsion rise higher in her as he drew closer to her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Corypheus! He—“ Larius broke off, staring around him, twitching at what Hawke assumed to be shadows. “What’s that? Who— No.” The word was a moan, a protest. “They are here.”

“They?” Fenris asked. “Who is they? The Carta?”

“Worse than the Carta. More treacherous, more dangerous.”

“Is this guy for real?” Varric muttered. “What’s more treacherous than the Carta?”

Larius drew himself up and gathered the scraps of his humanity together to stare down the dwarf. “The Wardens. They listen to Corypheus. You would do well to beware their slippery words.”

Hawke heard the noise this time herself, and turned toward it. Larius hobbled off into the shadows as she did so, and as he disappeared a woman in the silver and blue of the Wardens appeared from the darkness. She was speaking to three men who followed her closely, hanging on her every word.

“—the seals are breaking. They have held for thousands of years, but I feel them tremble.” The Warden stopped short, staring at the people standing in front of her. “Who are you?”

“Evelyn Hawke. Champion of Kirkwall.” She rarely used the title, but she was irritated and tired and didn’t think she liked the looks of the woman standing in front of her.

“Hawke?” The Warden’s green eyes widened in surprise. “Child of Malcolm Hawke?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Why are you so interested in our father?” Bethany asked, pushing forward to stand next to Evelyn, who felt a flash of irritation. How was she supposed to protect her sister if she insisted on trumpeting who she was all the time?

“Two children of Malcolm Hawke.” The Warden looked at Bethany, her green eyes speculative. 

“Exactly who are you?” Evelyn demanded. “And what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question. I am Janeka, Grey Warden, and I have business in this tower.”

“I am Hawke, killer of things that threaten my family, and I came here after the crazed Carta dwarves who keep attacking me.”

“Ah. Them.”

“Yes, them. Know anything about that?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve wondered what happened with them.” Janeka’s eyes held Hawke’s, neither woman willing to look away.

“And what are you doing here? The same thing they are?” Isabela spoke in her usual cool, amused drawl, but there was steel underneath it. Hawke felt a sudden warmth at the support of these people whom she trusted with every fiber of her being. What would life be like without a team you could trust? Unbearable.

Janeka ignored the pirate, keeping her eyes on Hawke. “It is certainly a coincidence to find Malcolm Hawke’s daughters here in the tower, but a welcome one.”

“What’s so special about our father?” Bethany asked.

“Don’t you know? He was the one who put these seals in place.”

Evelyn frowned. Surely if that were the case, they would know about it. “If that’s true, then why didn’t he ever say?”

“Grey Warden secrets are to be kept above all things. There would have been consequences had he ever spoken about what occurred here.”

Bethany put a hand on Evelyn’s arm, speaking slowly. “These seals … they are blood magic. My father was no maleficar.”

“Blood was required for the work he did for us.”

Evelyn felt her sister’s grip on her arm tighten as Bethany fought her emotions. “Why would my father have done blood magic for you?”

“He had his reasons. Didn’t he, Larius?” Janeka smirked at the old man, who shied away, one hand coming up to hide his face. “Why don’t you ask him, daughters of Malcolm Hawke, what incentive your father had to do blood magic at the Grey Wardens’ bidding?”

“What did you do?” Hawke felt anger boiling through her veins, and the oversized sword practically pulsed in her hands. “Tell me, Larius!”

“We told him—we told him … there was a woman waiting for him, a woman with child … We told him …”

“What?” Hawke wasn’t aware of having moved, but she found herself standing over him, the sword poised. It wanted to strike, she could feel it. “What did you do to my mother?”

“Nothing! It was not necessary to act. The Hawke, he agreed, he came with us and did as we asked.”

“Because you threatened the life of his wife and child.” 

“Sister.” She felt Bethany’s small, cool hands close over her own, gently pressing the sword back and away from Larius. “We didn’t think Father would have done these things willingly, did we? Of course he was coerced.”

Evelyn stared at her sister, feeling the heat of her own anger pounding in her blood. For a moment, Bethany’s face seemed unfamiliar and the words wouldn’t make sense. She blinked, her vision swimming, and then the world seemed to return to focus, the ferocious hot anger beginning to recede. “You’re right. Since Father cooperated on the threat alone, it makes no difference what they would have done. For now,” she added, glaring at Larius. She lowered the sword, backing away a few steps. 

There was sadness in the blurry brown eyes as Larius looked at her.

Janeka stepped forward. “You must understand why we need your help. You both carry your father’s blood—“

“You’re not using my blood for anything! Or my sister’s, either.” Bethany’s voice was strong and sharp as she pushed herself in between Evelyn and Janeka.

“Do you not understand what a great opportunity lies before us? Corypheus is unlike any being we have ever encountered! A darkspawn who can think, feel, reason …”

Privately, Evelyn wasn’t sure how different that was from Larius, who was standing right in front of them, but Janeka’s green eyes were lit with enthusiasm.

“Do not listen to her!” Larius said urgently. “Corypheus calls her—she does his bidding. Her words are his!”

Janeka gave him a withering glance of contempt. “I am in control here, not some talking darkspawn. My magic will bind Corypheus. We can use him to end the Blights. Imagine it! The darkspawn eradicated at last, the Blights forgotten.” Her gaze settled on Varric. “The dwarves can regain all of the Deep Roads.”

Varric shrugged, but Hawke could see that the words had struck something in him. For all that he pretended to be—and truly was, in many ways—separated from his heritage, the loss of the Deep Roads rankled in him just as it did in any other dwarf. “It seems worth the risk, Hawke. If it works, we get to be the heroes who ended all Blights forever; if it doesn’t, we kill him.”

“Just what Thedas needs, a darkspawn mage,” Fenris muttered. “Hawke, why are we even considering this? Can you truly trust this … mage to be in control of a power we know nothing about?”

Janeka seemed to know it wasn’t a good time to talk and wisely didn’t, although clearly she was outraged by both Varric’s suggestion of killing Corypheus and Fenris’s slander of her.

Isabela laughed. “Tear down the walls. Either it works, or we kill him. Either way, it’s better than before. And better than wandering around forever in this bloody tower.”

“How can you say that?” Bethany asked. “We’re talking about blood magic! About trusting someone we’ve never met to have control over a power we don’t understand. Evelyn, you can’t even be considering this, are you?” When her sister didn’t respond immediately, she asked again, “Are you?”

“No!” Larius said. “Don’t listen to her! It was she who sent the Carta after you,” he added slyly.

“What does that matter?” Janeka said contemptuously. She looked at Hawke. “You are here because you are needed; we need your help. Corypheus will be the greatest weapon against the Blight there has ever been. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Evelyn closed her eyes, thinking of Carver, of Aveline’s husband Wesley, of all those she had seen attacked by the darkspawn or wasting away of the taint.

Bethany must have shared her thoughts, because her voice, when she spoke, had a pleading element. “Must you bind him with blood? Is there no other magic you could use instead?”

Janeka’s return look was utterly withering. “Everything that has been done to Corypheus has been through the power of blood. There is no power more vital, more visceral. Nothing touches the soul and pulls it to you the way blood does.”

“Charming,” Fenris said, his sneer evident in his voice. “I thought Merrill was a lost soul, but even she did not speak of blood magic the way this—this mage does, as though it is an intoxicant, grasping at any excuse to perform her heinous rituals.”

Hawke could feel Bethany shiver in response to his words and Janeka’s. “Sister.”

“What other choice is there?” she asked, looking at Bethany and carefully avoiding meeting Fenris’s eyes. “We can’t trust this … person,” she said, waving her hand at Larius. “His brain has to be mush after all that taint has eaten it away. And Janeka is right—we need a powerful weapon against the Blights. Remember Carver, once that ogre had finished with him? Remember Wesley? You think I ever want to have to make the choice Aveline made and give someone I love a merciful death? If this Corypheus can stop the Blights, stop the taint … I say let him go.”

“Hawke, no!” Fenris’s voice was hoarse, as though the protest had been ripped from his mouth unwillingly. “You cannot be considering this.”

Bethany’s eyes were wide and shocked, although she didn’t plead as openly as the elf did. 

Janeka looked triumphant, glancing at Larius with a smug smile on her face.

He drew himself up to his full height, appearing almost human again, and he met the eyes of each of the three Wardens who accompanied Janeka. “I led you once,” he said with rusty dignity. “Who do you serve today? The Grey … or Corypheus? You feel him call, I know you do.”

They glanced uncomfortably at each other, at Janeka, at Larius, and at Hawke and her companions.

Larius nodded. “To me! We will reach the seal before these people—no one knows this tower better than I.” He turned around and ran off surprisingly swiftly. Even more surprisingly, all of the Wardens followed him without hesitation.

“We don’t need them. Or him. Come with me, Hawke. We will have no trouble arriving at the seal first.” Janeka’s eyes glittered, and Hawke wouldn’t have wanted to be one of the Wardens when Janeka caught up to them.

She followed the mage, taking the steps two at a time. Varric hurried behind them. Fenris and Bethany brought up the rear far less eagerly, with Isabela walking between them.

“I hope there’s some good coin in all this tedious fighting,” the pirate said, sighing.

“Coin?” Fenris asked with derision. “Do you think of nothing but coin? Do you think of the danger to all of Thedas if a powerful darkspawn mage is released? Of the perils inherent in following a woman as clearly deranged as this … Janeka? Of Hawke, falling ever more surely under the power of that hideous weapon?” His voice cracked on the last words, and he ducked his head, growling in annoyance at himself before hurrying after Varric.

“He’s right,” Bethany said softly. “This is all wrong. This Janeka, and the way Evelyn is acting … I don’t like it at all.”

Isabela looked at the mage, her eyebrows lifting. “You and the elf agreeing on something? Never thought I’d see that day.”

Bethany smiled a little. “Me, either.”

“If things go … south, you can count on me.” The pirate’s eyes were unusually sincere, and her hand stole into Bethany’s, closing warmly around the mage’s cold fingers.

“Can I?” Bethany’s eyes met Isabela’s directly, and the pirate looked away under the scrutiny.

“I’ve had your back for a long time. Hers, too.”

“Of course you have.” The mage let go, and whatever moment might have been between them had passed as she turned and followed the others.

Isabela watched her go for a moment, then shook her head at her own foolishness and brought up the rear. The sooner they got out of this tower, the happier she’d be.

On the other side of the door, a group of heavily armed dwarves awaited them. They rushed to the attack as soon as Hawke and her team appeared, then pulled up short when they recognized Janeka at Hawke’s side.

“Janeka? You here—and with the Hawke?” one of them asked. His eyes were that cloudy grey of Corypheus’s taint, and he spoke slowly, as though the words were hard to remember.

“Yes, yes,” the mage snapped impatiently, waving the dwarves back. She ran toward a bridge across the chasm, stopping only when she saw that a large chunk had fallen from the middle.

“We cannot cross that,” Fenris said.

“You think?” Hawke rolled her eyes, ignoring the look of concern he gave at her dismissive tone. She looked at Janeka. “Where do we go from here?”

Varric’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Hawke’s back. It wasn’t like her to ask someone else for advice. He glared at the sword, which was practically pulsing in her hands. If he could take it away from her, fling it into the abyss, far away … but if he did that, this Corypheus would still call. More men like Gerav would die in his service. No, Hawke wouldn’t want that, he told himself, pushing his own emotions aside to think about later, in privacy. Or not at all. Not at all would suit him just fine. Anything would be better than running around a lost tower watching Hawke follow someone else.

Janeka was tapping her foot, looking at the Carta dwarves speculatively. “You three,” she barked suddenly. “Go find Larius and the others. Kill them if you can. If not … then slow them down. I don’t care how you do it.”

Bethany felt ill listening to this other mage give orders. She hadn’t liked Larius, exactly, but she’d felt he had the right idea where Corypheus was concerned. And she didn’t trust Janeka for an instant. There was a light in the mage’s eyes that Bethany had seen before—Anders had looked that way occasionally, and Orsino, and everyone knew the ends both of them had come to. She shivered, thinking of them both, of the dangers faced by mages every day. Had their feelings for her distracted the men, causing them to fall prey to temptation when they might not otherwise have done so? She wished she knew. Even if she hadn’t played a role in their downfall, however, she had decided once and for all that she was done romancing other mages. If she was ever to fall in love again, it would be with someone … confident. Skilled in practical things. Someone who knew how to live in the world—

Foolish, she told herself. She was the First Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi, allowed out for this one task and then immured again deep in the heart of the Gallows. Distrusted by those who had appointed themselves her watchers, feared by the world at large. What need had she of anyone who knew how to live in the world? Bethany’s connection to the world had been severed the first time the power had gathered itself in her body. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that.


	8. Someplace Sinister and Foreboding

Janeka appeared to have found an alternate path at last, and was leading the way, blasting through rubble-filled doorways with her staff. Fenris was content to hang back and keep a sharp eye on the mage and on Evelyn, who appeared less and less her usual decisive self the longer they stayed in this blighted hole. Varric walked at his side, both men for once of a common accord. Isabela and Bethany followed them, unusually quiet.

As they entered a large room, Fenris could see three stone golems arrayed in front of them. Golems, here? He had to admit, this was the most interesting surprise the tower had held for them so far. He started to speak up, to ask Hawke if they could pause for a moment to investigate these strange constructs, but before he could say anything, the bent, twisted figure of Larius emerged from the shadows behind one of the golems.

“No further!” he cried in his cracked voice.

“No further?” Janeka echoed, her voice cold enough to freeze the blood. “Do you really think you can stop me, old man? I have skills you never dreamed of possessing! I will reach Corypheus and harness his power no matter what obstacles you place in my path!”

Larius simply stared at her. “Your path ends here,” he said flatly, and then he disappeared in the dark depths of the room as the golems began to move, the stones they were made up of rubbing together in a cacophony that had Fenris putting his hands over his ears. 

“What are you waiting for?” Janeka snapped at all of them.

Isabela looked at her blades, Varric at Bianca’s quarrels, then they both turned to Janeka and shrugged.

“Fine!” She whirled to the attack.

Fenris joined the pirate and the dwarf in the doorway, folding his arms firmly as he watched the mage’s staff flash blue arcs of power at the golems.

“No glowy thing today?” Isabela asked.

“I lack motivation,” Fenris said shortly. His eyes moved to the Hawke sisters—Bethany’s staff was in motion as well, as Evelyn hacked and slashed at the golems with that unwieldy sword.

“Look on the bright side,” Varric remarked, the corner of his mouth curling up a bit, “maybe it’ll break and we can all leave Corypheus to Janeka and get out of here.”

“Can’t say I agree with you there, Varric.” Isabela narrowed her eyes, watching as Bethany shot a spike of ice at a golem that sheared off its arm. “Mm. Impressive.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not exactly all ‘save the world’ over here, but leaving this crazy mage in charge of some super-powerful darkspawn magic doesn’t make me feel any safer … and it doesn’t keep this darkspawn mage from sending more disturbed dwarves after Hawke. One is enough, after all.” She winked at Varric.

“Much as I would like to follow your wise course, Varric, I believe I am of the same mind as Isabela.” Fenris sighed heavily. “This is not a mage I would trust with a spare sovereign, much less with the type of power that seems to be at stake here.”

“You two and your sodding nobility.” Varric sighed as well, unslinging Bianca. “Might as well join in, then.”

Fenris drew his blade. “I see little value in our assistance, but no doubt the others would appreciate the support.” 

“Fine, then.” Isabela disappeared into the shadows, reappearing behind one of the golems in a surprisingly short amount of time. One of her daggers found a space between two of the rocks that formed the golem and wedged them apart, causing its arm to fall off.

Between them all, they managed to freeze and pound and sever and blast at the golems until they were nothing but piles of rocks. Janeka glanced at them contemptuously, and stepped over the rocks in front of the doorway. “Are you coming?” she asked. She gave a cursory backward glance at Hawke, completely ignoring the rest of them.

“Right with you.” Hawke stowed the ugly sword in its sheath on her back and hurried to catch up with the mage, and Isabela went with her, matching Hawke stride for stride. Varric followed them, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. Bethany tugged at Fenris’s arm to keep him lagging a bit behind with her. He glanced in surprise at her hand—to the best of his memory, Bethany had never willingly touched him before.

“Do you really love my sister?” she asked, keeping her voice as low as she could. 

He was mildly affronted by the question, but it was not worth an argument. “I do.”

“Would you kill her in order to keep her from being possessed by that thing?”

It was as if a shaft of ice had speared his stomach. He nearly fell over as all-too-vivid images of Hawke crazy from that sword’s influence and himself having to thrust his hand inside her and squeeze her heart until it stopped played in his mind. 

Bethany huffed in disgust. “Fine. I guess it would fall to me, then.”

“No. If … if such a thing were ever to need done, I would do it.” He couldn’t bear the idea of anyone else being with her in her final moments, whenever and however those were to come. With some difficulty, he pulled himself together. “That day is not yet here, however.”

“Not yet, but if this goes much farther … And who knows what this Corypheus wants. Look, Fenris, we’ve never gotten along.”

“We have not,” he agreed.

“But this is about Evelyn, and I want her and that sword far, far away from each other.”

“As do I.”

They were silent for a moment; the others had all drawn ahead and gone around a curve in the stairway. “You seem to make her happy,” Bethany said abruptly.

“She would not have me if I did not,” Fenris pointed out.

“No, I suppose that’s true. She used to be with a lot of men who didn’t make her happy … but none of them lasted very long. You—You’ve been all she could think of ever since she first saw you.”

“That is gratifying.” It was far more than that. It was intoxicating.

“I knew the moment she met you that you would change her life.” Bethany’s tone said she wasn’t sure that change had been for the better. She sighed. “I wish I knew how she knew. You know, that you were … it.”

“If I had the faintest idea, I would tell you.”

“How did you know?” 

Fenris frowned, not certain how to answer. Having Hawke’s sister come to him looking for what appeared to be romantic advice was not something he had expected, and certainly not while they were still trapped in an underground tower searching for a deranged darkspawn mage. 

“Well?” 

He shrugged. “How could I not know? Your sister is … extraordinary. She draws people to her with her courage, her generosity, her undaunted spirit. It is my good fortune that she saw something in me that caused her to return my regard. Had she not done so, I would have continued merely admiring her from afar.”

“And that would have been enough for you?”

“What more could I possibly have asked for? It was all that I felt I deserved. I still …” He stopped, uncomfortable with speaking so freely of his emotions with this woman who, Hawke’s sister or no, he did not trust.

Bethany nodded. “I think I understand.”

Fenris wondered if she truly did. Bethany appeared to have no ability to wait and determine what she truly wanted, leaping first after Anders and then after Orsino. It was no surprise that she should now be considering a similar leap after Isabela. What was not so expected was that Isabela seemed interested in the mage in return, and in more than a casual manner. Typically, Isabela’s curiosity would have been sated by the first encounter, but that it had been followed up not just with further physical explorations but with protectiveness and companionship as well … was it possible the pirate was beginning to consider settling  
down, and with Hawke’s sister? 

That line of thought was abruptly derailed by the cheers of Isabela and Varric ahead, and Fenris hurried his steps to catch up with them. The cheers had faded by the time he and Bethany burst through the door, although he understood their point of origin. Filling his lungs with the clean, cool, fresh night air, he looked up at the stars with as much relief as Varric and Isabela must have felt. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Isabela and Bethany’s hands meeting in a brief grasp. He could foresee nothing there but pain for the pirate, and possibly for the mage as well, but they were grown women. There was no need for him to interfere. 

His eyes sought Hawke, concerned for her welfare given the dark influence of that sword. Varric was next to her as they topped a rise in the path. The dwarf stopped, staring at something ahead. Hawke kept going, not so much as if she didn’t see what Varric saw; more as if it didn’t register for her in the same manner. Fenris quickened his steps to catch up to the dwarf, and he, too, paused at the rise. Ahead of them lay a pavilion, surrounded so thickly with magical protections that one could see the glowing streams of the spells.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Varric asked.

“You appear to be using a definition of that word I am not familiar with,” Fenris said, staring at the structure. “What, precisely, is ‘nice’ about that?”

“Well, here I was, just wondering what someplace sinister and foreboding would look like, and here it is. Serendipitous, if you ask me.”

“You are a strange, hairy little man.”

“You wish you could grow hair like mine, elf.” Varric moved forward, following Hawke and Janeka, and Fenris accompanied him.

As they approached the pavilion, four figures stepped out of the shadows, blocking the path. With some surprise, Fenris recognized Larius as the figure in front. His Grey Warden uniform seemed cleaner, less taint-spattered and rusted, and he stood much taller. There was an air of authority about him that hadn’t been there before. When he spoke, his voice was clearer, his words more coherent. “You will go no farther, Janeka.”

Appearing unimpressed by the alteration in the former Warden Commander, Janeka laughed. “You can’t stop me, Larius.” She looked past him at the other three Wardens. “They will see—the Wardens will all see—that I am right about this. With Corypheus’s power, we can end the Blights forever!”

“But at what cost?” Fenris murmured. Hawke glanced at him, her blue eyes wide and worried and he held his hand out, hoping to reach her and bring her to see reason before it was too late.

Larius broke the moment, stepping toward Hawke and saying urgently, “Hawke! You must listen to me! Janeka is blinded to the truth. Corypheus is using her! He speaks to her through their shared taint.”

“Don’t you share that taint, too, little man?” Isabela asked. “What makes you immune to this Corypheus’s influence?”

Ignoring the pirate, Larius continued, staring at Hawke. “You cannot allow this to continue!”

Hawke looked uncomfortable, her gaze darting between Larius and Janeka. “Larius has accused you of being Corypheus’s dupe several times now, Janeka. Is it true? Do you hear his voice?”

There was a look in the mage’s eyes that Fenris didn’t like, a furtive, greedy look that she hid almost as soon as it had appeared on her face.

“Of course it isn’t!” Janeka declared. She turned her eyes on Larius, scornfully. “This is a madman, his brain rotted by the taint and twisted by years in the Deep Roads. Look at him, Hawke. You’ll see I am right.”

Larius, eyes blazing, returned Janeka’s sneer. “She should not wear the griffon—she is a traitor to the Wardens, seduced by the voice from the Fade.” He moved toward Janeka, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. Behind him, the other three Wardens tensed, ready for action.

Hawke put herself between Larius and Janeka, the ugly sword glowing in her hands. “One more step and you’re dead.”

This farce would continue, then. Fenris felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of his Hawke defending a mad mage. It was clear there would be no further reasoning with her until they had rid the world of this Corypheus once and for all. Stifling a sigh, he stepped forward, next to his wife, and held up his own sword. She gave him a surprised and grateful glance. It was enough—for now.

Larius looked energized, his eyes lighting with battle lust. “Better to die than to live with Corypheus free. Wardens!”

And he charged, but even with the adrenaline in his system from the ongoing fight with Janeka, he was too feeble and tainted to stand for long against Hawke and Fenris together. Janeka, her eyes lit with as mad a light as Larius’s had been, attacked her fellow Wardens, light flashing from her staff. Bethany moved to stand beside the other mage, adding her power to the fray. Isabela and Varric looked at each other and shrugged before bringing their own weapons to bear on the Wardens.

To no one’s surprise, it was a very short fight. Larius gave a last groan as he sank to his knees, the light going out of his eyes.

“It is best this way,” Janeka said. “For all of them. A Warden’s end is harsh when it does not come in battle.” She looked down at her fallen comrades not with pity, but with contempt. “They were fools to deny all that Corypheus can mean to us, and to all of Thedas. Come,” she continued briskly, taking Hawke’s arm and all but dragging her along. “Onward. Corypheus sleeps now, but not for long. The last of the prison’s magic still holds him, but with the blood of the Hawke, we shall set him free.”

“I really don’t like this,” Varric muttered.

Isabela stared moodily after the two women. “Who does?” 

“So what do we do?” Bethany asked, looking anxiously around at all of them.

“We allow her to free this abomination,” Fenris said, and when they all stared at him in shock, he gave an unpleasant smile. “Then we kill him."


	9. A Weapon You Can't Control

The pavilion was chilled by the winds that whistled through it, looping in between the pillars and swirling around the motionless figure on the dais in the center. He was tall, inhumanly so, and skeletal, his face tainted but still recognizably that of a man and not a darkspawn. Long robes swathed his thin body, and claw-like hands were upraised as if in supplication to the Maker.

Janeka stopped in front of him. “Corypheus.”

Hawke shivered at the reverent tone. Something seemed off about that tone. But the sword pulsed in her hands, the pulse beating through her body and pounding in her blood, and it was increasingly difficult to think of anything but the tug that pulled her toward this still form that awaited her.

“Someone should feed him better,” Isabela remarked behind her.

Varric chuckled, but Fenris said humorlessly, “I believe feeding is precisely what he wishes for.”

A flash of irritation heated Hawke. Why must he always be so negative about anything that smacked of power? Here was tremendous power just standing there in front of them—why couldn’t Fenris appreciate what it could do for them, for the world?

“Tell me,” she whispered, although she couldn’t have said who she was speaking to. Her lips moved almost soundlessly as she lifted the sword in front of her. “Tell me how.”

Immediately she felt a burning in her blood and an increase of heat in her fingertips as the blood rushed there. She swayed, the room spinning. 

“Hawke!” Fenris was there with his arm around her waist. “You should rest. This is too much for you.”

“No!” She struggled away from him, closing her eyes until the dizziness had passed. “I know what to do now.” Sword firmly in hand, she went to one of the pillars in the corners of the room. Before anyone could stop her, she had slashed open the pad of her thumb and pressed the bleeding wound against a seal in the middle of the pillar.

It emitted a blast of energy that sent her staggering backward, and she could feel something shift in the very air around her, a loosening, a growing power like a crouching lion that was gathering itself to spring. There was an intoxicating taste of danger in it, and she ran toward the next pillar, heedless of the blood that dripped onto the floor.

“Evelyn, stop! What are you doing?” Bethany’s voice seemed to Evelyn to come from somewhere far away. It wasn’t important, not compared to breaking the seal on the next pillar. She pressed her wound against it. As the blood was leeched from her body, she could practically feel it filling the seal, and as the seal shattered something howled in triumph. Was it in her head? The others didn’t seem to hear it.

She was oblivious to Bethany’s protests, to the mute misery in Fenris’s eyes, but not to the sudden appearance of Bianca’s silver-tongued face in front of her.

“Not another step, Hawke. Bianca objects to seeing her friends under the influence of crazy half-darkspawn mages.”

Janeka shouted at him from across the room, as close as she had come to the seals, but Varric ignored her. 

“Out of my way, Varric.” Her voice sounded cold in her own ears.

He glared up at her, stubborn as she had ever seen him, and for a moment a blind red rage swept through her. She wanted to bat him aside with the giant blade, him and everyone else who stood between her and the next seal. She was conscious of the blood welling from the wound in her thumb, dripping on her boots.  
“Not to be a fuss-budget, sweet thing, but have you thought this through? It doesn’t seem like a very good idea to me.”

Isabela’s drawling voice, light and breezy, drifted through the fog that seemed to surround Hawke. She blinked, trying to focus on her friends, but the throb of her blood in the wound was stronger and she was drawn forward to the seal, heedless of what might be happening around her. She pushed past Varric, nudging Bianca out of her way.

Quietly, Bethany said, “It seems to take Hawke blood to open the seals. If she doesn’t, no one can.”

“Perhaps no one should.” Fenris’s voice, sharply. It hurt a little, and Hawke lifted her uninjured hand to cover her ear.

“How many times has he—or Janeka, in his stead—sent the Carta after her?” Varric this time, his voice unusually serious. “You think he’s going to stop without getting what he wants? Who else has to be destroyed by this … thing?” There was a pause, and she heard the click of Bianca being unloaded. “Much as I hate to admit it, I think we have to let her do it.”

“Hawke, you must hurry!” Janeka called shrilly above the din in Hawke’s head, above the quarrelling of her companions.

Yes, she must hurry. The seals were breaking—she could feel the freedom of Corypheus pounding with her heartbeat.

“If Hawke doesn’t break the seals, it never stops, is that what you’re saying?” Isabela asked.

Fenris sighed, giving in. “Isn’t that always the way with these ancient prisons?”

Hawke ignored them all in favor of listening to and following the singing in her blood. She pressed her thumb against the last seal, feeling it give way. The resulting shock wave that traveled across the pavilion knocked them all backward. 

The sword seemed to tug at her, pulling her toward the still-motionless figure in the middle of the room. The dais seemed to pulse with the rhythm in her blood. Hawke lifted the sword over her head by the blade, paying no attention to the cuts it made in her palms, and then brought it down in the center of the dais, just in front of Corypheus.

The air trembled. Hawke felt chilled all the way to her bones as a cold wind whipped around them. 

A low groaning sound came from Corypheus and then the sword in Hawke’s hands shattered, shards of it flying through the air. One slashed Fenris’s unprotected arm and he swore, even as Bethany’s healing light knit the edges of the cut back together.

Hawke tried to make sense of what she had done—used her own blood to release a darkspawn mage. What could she have been thinking? It seemed incomprehensible to her now. 

And then Corypheus was moving, floating free from the ground, and looking around him in confusion. 

Janeka appeared beside Hawke, her eyes lit with triumph. “He emerges. I will bind him,” she crowed. Raising her staff, she shot a bolt of powerful energy at Corypheus. It curled and writhed visibly around him. His eyes were open now, and he looked directly at Janeka, holding her gaze. He lifted a hand, flicking it to the side, and her spell was broken, her staff flying back into her face and knocking her to the ground. For a moment she just lay there, her face twisted in pain, then she scrambled backward, getting clumsily to her feet. “Oh, shit.” 

“You think?” Varric said. 

Fenris kept quiet, for which Hawke was grateful. She felt chilled and somehow alone now that the sword had been broken and with it whatever hold Corypheus had had over her mind. 

Bethany stepped up next to her. “Sister?”

“I’m here. Just me,” she clarified.

“That’s a relief. What will we do with him, now that her plans have failed?” She indicated Janeka with a jerk of her chin, but kept her eyes on Evelyn.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, ready to pronounce judgment, but before she could do so, Corypheus spoke.

His voice was rusty and slow, as befitted someone who hadn’t spoken in several ages. “Be this some dream I wake from?” He looked around the pavilion, his twisted face unreadable. “Am I in dwarven lands? But I see the sky … and their roads are so empty …” His eyes fell on Evelyn. “You! Serve you in the temple of Dumat? Bring me the first acolyte at once—I must speak to him!”

Janeka, moving to Evelyn’s side, said quietly, “The Wardens captured Corypheus after the first Blight. This was part of the Imperium then.”

“Wonderful,” Fenris said acidly. “After all my attempts to escape from Tevinter mages, here we are again.”

Evelyn glanced back at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring up at Corypheus with a face full of revulsion. Anything she might have said to him was cut off by Corypheus’s imperious voice, declaiming again.

“You! Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any magister of Tevinter! On your knees!”

The lyrium in Fenris’s skin lit as of its own volition. “I kneel to no Magister. Not ever again.”

Bethany grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the back of the pavilion as Corypheus began to turn his gaze in the elf’s direction. “You idiot, do you want to get us all killed? Let Evelyn deal with him.”

“Evelyn is not herself.” But he deactivated the lyrium with an effort.

“She’s coming back around, now that that useless ugly sword is destroyed. I can hear it in her voice. Stay back here, maybe he’ll forget about you. Blend into the shadows—do you know how to do that?” she asked, remembering that his training had been as a warrior.

Fenris nodded. “My master taught me. He had his reasons,” he snapped defensively when Bethany gave him a curious look.

“Maybe you can tell me about them sometime. Or not,” she added. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? Just … see if you can sneak around and get behind him, do that glowy thing you do.”

“’Glowy thing’? You appear to have been spending too much time with Isabela,” he remarked. Without waiting for a response beyond Bethany’s immediate blush, he drifted even farther back, away from Corypheus, and let the shadows close around him.

Corypheus was still demanding fealty and obeisance. Varric rolled his eyes at the ancient magister. “Shut him up, Hawke, can’t you?”

Raising her voice, Evelyn said, “The Free Marches haven’t been part of the Imperium for six hundred years! No one’s kneeling to you.”

He stopped in mid-imperious demand, narrowing his eyes as he looked down at Hawke. “You are what held me,” he said, slowly and thoughtfully. “I smell the blood in you.”

“Ew,” Isabela said.

“My sentiments exactly, Rivaini. Hawke, can’t we kill this thing yet?”

“No, you mustn’t!” Janeka looked shocked. “He holds the key! He can end the Blights; he will be a powerful weapon in our fight against the darkspawn.”

“A weapon you can’t control? Yeah, that’s just what you need.” Isabela snorted, turning away from the mage. “Hawke?”

Corypheus’s voice, raised in supplication, cut into the conversation. “Dumat! Lord! Tell me, what waking dream is this?” He lifted his face toward the sky, concealed by the roof of the pavilion, closing his eyes. “The light,” he breathed. “We sought the golden light. You offered the power of the gods themselves. But it was dark … corrupt.” His voice broke into a sob. “Darkness ever since. How long? How long?”  
Janeka drew in a horrified breath.

“Is he saying what I think he’s saying?” Hawke asked her.

“He is. He’s speaking of the Golden City. He was one of them—one of the magisters who violated the Maker’s sacred space!”

Varric groaned. “Oh, come on, are we going to fall for these fairy tales?”

“Why, Varric, I thought you were an Andrastean,” Bethany said with some surprise.

“Me?” He snorted. “I’m a nothingian. I believe in stories, though, and as stories go, that one has proved pretty powerful.”

Without tearing her eyes from Corypheus, Janeka went on in a hurried whisper. “They became the first darkspawn. It was he and his kind who brought down the Blights on all of us!”

Hawke was surprised not to hear an acerbic comment from Fenris, so she made one in his place. “I understand that the magisters of today’s Tevinter devote their lives to emulating the depravities of the original magisters.” She felt quite proud of that one—she was sure it was what Fenris would have said. The temptation to look for him was very strong, but if he had disappeared somewhere it was because he had a plan, and she couldn’t take the risk of jeopardizing that plan. “If this man is one of them, we should wipe him from the face of Thedas.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and Janeka, shame-faced, didn’t offer one. “You’re right.” She shook her head. Lines on her face were more evident than they had been before; she looked years older and very weary. “Corypheus must have been controlling me, whispering in my mind. That’s what the Wardens meant. He can speak to us through the corruption. It must be why the dwarves were tainted.”

Hawke frowned. Something didn’t make sense to her. “If he’s been asleep all this time, how has he been calling? And for that matter, what has he wanted? He seems too confused to have had any kind of big plan.”

“I don’t know. Everything I’ve read indicates he’s been in stasis for hundreds of years. Perhaps something in him resisted the spells and has been struggling to find a way to awaken all this time. It doesn’t really matter, in the end. All that matters is that we have brought him to full awakening, and it is up to us to prevent him from rising!”

“’Us’, she says,” Varric muttered. “Like this was all our idea.”

Janeka spared a glance for the dwarf, but didn’t comment on his remark. Instead, she turned her gaze on Hawke, looking mournful, if not quite as abashed as she probably should have been. “Larius was right. In his name, we must destroy this creature.”

“Well, it’s about time,” Isabela declared loudly.

Hawke looked up at the darkspawn, who was still staring at the ceiling of the pavilion and muttering to Dumat. “First he went after the Maker in his house, now me in mine. While I’m honored to be in such an august company, I think it’s time Corypheus learns a few lessons.”

“Never thought of you as a schoolmarm, Hawke.” Varric grinned as he stepped up next to her, Bianca cradled in his hands.

Corypheus raised his arms, sounding anguished as he cried out, “The city! It was supposed to be golden! It was supposed to be ours!” He stood in that position, staring upwards as he listened, waited, but no response came. With a roar of rage, he tore his gaze away from the ceiling and the heavens above it and looked down at Hawke. “If I cannot be freed by you, I will use your blood to break my chains. The blood, Lord! The blood is mine! The fire in my veins!” His voice rose to a shriek, and bolts of lightning spurted forth from his hands. His whole body was wreathed in lightning.

As Hawke and her team moved automatically into battle positions, the reason for Fenris’s disappearance came to her, and she hoped he would know better than to attempt to phase through Corypheus’s body while that energy crackled around him. Fenris’s body wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

To forestall any attempt at heroics on his part, she leaped into the fray, thrusting her sword at Corypheus. His energy wreathed the metal, jolting upward and sending a blinding flash of pain through her.

“Hawke, you idiot,” she heard Isabela shout behind her as she fell to her knees.

She was dimly aware of a blur of blue armor next to her. Janeka went past, staff blazing faster than Hawke would have imagined it could. Corypheus blocked the blasts almost as fast as she could create them, but one or two slipped through his defenses, creating smoking holes in his ancient, tattered robes.

A crossbow bolt whistled over Hawke’s shoulder, embedding itself in Corypheus’s robes. With a contemptuous twitch, the tainted magister loosed the bolt, sending it clattering to the floor. “Perhaps a little something more! Dumat, Lord! Grant me your powers!” He raised his hands to the skies and they burst into flame.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Varric groaned. He threw himself out of the way of a stream of fire that came from Corypheus’s burning hands.

Janeka screamed in rage, launching herself at Corypheus. Her nails scraped their way down his cheek before he tossed her aside, her hair on fire. Isabela, who was nearest, stamped on the ends of the mage’s hair to put out the flames before she turned back into the fray, throwing a dagger that caught and snagged in Corypheus’s robes, barely scratching his leg instead of sinking into the artery the way it had been meant to do.

“What does he have, special robe powers? Sunshine, you have any of those?” Varric called over his shoulder.

Bethany, eyes wide, shook her head. Hawke started to yell at her sister for just standing there, until she realized that Bethany was watching the magister, studying his movements. Evelyn felt a pride in her sister that she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before. Her little sister wasn’t going to go off half-cocked and get herself set on fire like that mage Janeka—she knew what she was doing. And Evelyn’s job was to make sure Corypheus didn’t notice.

With a cry, she attacked, sparks flying off her blade as it sliced through Corypheus’s fire. The magister stepped back under the attack. Then, with a smile of satisfaction, he shifted his positioning. When her next blow came, he caught the sword in his bare hand, and a jolt of energy ran through it. Hawke’s gauntlets glowed with the magic, and she was thrown backward, landing hard on her back. As she hit the ground, she heard Fenris cry out. Shaken, she struggled to try to get to her feet before Bethany was at her side, pushing her back down.

“Stay still. Let me look at you. The wrong move after a fall like that could have serious consequences.”

“Corypheus,” Hawke croaked.

“Let us handle it.” Bethany’s face was tense. “Now hush while I work. There’s not much time, if I’m going to be helpful to the others.” She closed her eyes, resting a small, cool hand on Hawke’s forehead. Evelyn could feel the slow, careful fingers of her sister’s healing seeking out her injuries and putting them right, and she did as she was told, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back onto the ground.

She must have been hurt more than she’d thought, because when she opened her eyes again the pavilion was a shambles. Shards of ice and pieces of rock littered the ground, small fires burned here and there. The walls were cracked and scorched, the floor buckled in several places.

“What happened?” she asked. 

Bethany, her face drawn and exhausted and smudged with dirt, gave her a small smile. “You missed the battle.”

“I did?” Evelyn pushed herself up on her elbows, surveying the room. Corypheus was down, sprawled on the stone floor in a very undignified position, and Janeka lay near him, her features distorted.

“What happened to her?” 

“She started to become an abomination. Fenris killed her.” There was a revulsion in Bethany’s pretty face, but whether it was for the mage’s loss of control or the satisfaction Evelyn was sure her husband must have taken in killing her, it was hard to say.

Alarm bells rang in Evelyn’s head. A whole, healthy Fenris would not have been far from her side. “Where is Fenris?”

“Lay back down, sister,” Bethany said, her tone as uncompromising as the firm hand she put on Evelyn’s chest. “He’ll be fine.”

“Be fine? What happened to him?”

“When you were knocked out, Fenris tried to use his powers on Corypheus. They backfired.”

“Pretty spectacularly,” Varric put in. “Kirkwall’s New Year’s fireworks have nothing on Broody’s shower of lyrium sparks.”

“Wasn’t so much fun for the rest of us.” Isabela sounded annoyed. “He singed my boots.”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” Evelyn offered, relaxing a bit at the familiar banter.

“That’s cute, sweet thing. Like even you could afford my boots.”

“Fenris is sleeping off the effects; I put a spell on him so he’d take a little nap.” A tiny smile quirked the corners of Bethany’s mouth.

“What Sunshine is trying not to say is that she’s been waiting to do that for a long time.”

Evelyn struggled to sit up, pushing aside Bethany’s restraining hands. The world swam for a moment as she came upright. “But it’s over?” she asked. “Corypheus is dead?”

“Corypheus, Janeka, Larius, the Grey Wardens … pretty much everyone’s dead.”

“Except us. As always.” Varric grinned.

“What will you do when our luck runs out and we end up as dead as the next guy?” Evelyn asked, her eyes on Fenris’s still form, watching the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. She pushed herself up onto her feet, her muscles complaining as she moved across the pavilion toward Fenris.

“Race you to the Maker. What? I have to make sure he hears my story first.”

“Varric, once he hears your story, he won’t want to listen to anyone else’s.”

“I think that’s the general idea,” Isabela drawled. She knelt next to Bethany, pressing a damp cloth against a cut on the mage’s cheek. Evelyn hadn’t even noticed it. “You should rest,” Isabela said to Bethany, her tone gentle and concerned.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You will be if you don’t overwork yourself.”

That was as much of the conversation as Evelyn heard. She sank down next to Fenris, stroking his hair back from his face. Leaning back against the pavilion wall, she closed her eyes. “Let’s go home,” she whispered.


	10. Back to Kirkwall

It took them a long time to make it back to Kirkwall. Fenris and Evelyn were slowed by their wounds, Bethany wearied by all the healing she’d had to perform. Isabela walked with Bethany the whole way, her arm around the mage’s waist. Evelyn tried to pretend it didn’t bother her to see the pirate with her sister. Not that she didn’t love Isabela like family—she did—but she didn’t trust her not to break Bethany’s heart, and Bethany had had enough of that. 

Fenris gave a muffled groan at a missed step, and Evelyn put her own arm around him. She couldn’t help the thought that her distrust of Isabela where Bethany was concerned was probably a mirror of how Bethany felt about Fenris. 

“Hawke, do you feel it was wise to leave the tower unguarded?” Fenris asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“What choice did we have? Would you have wanted to be left behind watching over the Grey Wardens’ secrets?”

He shook his head, wincing with the movement.

“Didn’t think so.”

“When we get back to Kirkwall, I’ll send a message to Nathaniel Howe in Amaranthine,” Varric said. “He seemed decent enough, as Wardens go.”

“I wrote him after … to tell him about Anders and to apologize for allowing it to happen.”

“Wasn’t your fault, Hawke,” Isabela said softly.

“Howe didn’t agree. He charitably took some of the blame for the Wardens, but made it clear he thought my judgement where Anders was concerned was questionable. I don’t disagree.” 

This was well-argued territory, and the rest of them left it alone.

“Will you tell him about Father?” Bethany asked.

Hawke sighed. “I might as well. Chances are there are some sort of records the Wardens have access to and he’d find out anyway.”

“I can’t believe Father let himself be manipulated that way. Blood magic …” Bethany shuddered.

Evelyn said nothing. She hoped that if she didn’t continue the conversation, Bethany would let it go. Their father had done what he had to do; charged with protecting his wife and unborn child, he had had to put his principles and his deeply held beliefs aside. The blood magic chilled Bethany to the bone because of her own magic—but she would never understand what it was like to have to sacrifice for your family’s needs. That burden had passed to Evelyn when their father died; she understood why there had been no other choice. Old resentments bubbled up inside her, thinking of all the times she’d fought for her sister to be protected, all the things she might have done and the places she might have gone had her sister not been a mage. Or not been so helpless.

“It is in the past,” Fenris said quietly into her ear. “Allow it to remain there.”

“Fine words coming from you,” she said, and they exchanged a smile.

The sun gleamed off the white walls of Hightown in the distance. 

“Almost there,” Varric said. They were on a main road, at last, along with other travelers heading into the city. 

Bethany looked uncomfortable, her eyes on the ground in front of her. They all knew that as soon as they got back, she would be returned to the Tower and interrogated about her experiences, to make certain she hadn’t become either an abomination or a blood mage during her absence from the Gallows. The freedom to travel unsupervised, to a limited extent, was hers as Senior Enchanter … but trust was no more a part of the Templars’ vocabulary than it had ever been.

“So, cupcake,” Isabela said softly, surprised to hear the huskiness in her own voice. She paused, taking a breath, trying to sound casual. “They let you out much?”

“Not really, no.” Bethany’s cheeks were pink and she didn’t lift her eyes from the ground.

“They let you keep your windows unlocked?”

“Yes, but the tower is—“

“Way less slippery than a mainmast in a gale, and doesn’t move around so much. Mind some company once in a while?”

“Mind?” The cheeks were apple red now, and Isabela could feel her own body reacting to the mage’s thoughts, which were all too obvious. “No, I wouldn’t say ‘mind’, exactly. I think … I’d like that.” Bethany’s words were little more than a whisper, so Isabela had to lean in close to hear them. So close that she couldn’t help brushing her lips against that soft, smooth cheek.

“See you soon, cupcake.”

“Let it go,” Fenris whispered in Hawke’s ear. “Your sister’s happiness is no longer your responsibility, and has not been for a long time.”

“I know that,” she said with a sigh, drawing her gaze away from the intimate discussion between the two women. “But you grow up taking care of someone, and you find yourself being told often enough that that person is helpless and delicate and in need of your strength … and then you see that isn’t true anymore, and you wonder what your role is now that you’re not needed any longer.”

He took her hand in both of his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing her fingers. “You are, most definitely, needed. Perhaps not by your sister, but by others. By me.” He hesitated. “Is it … approaching the time when you might be ready to try something new?”

“You mean something other than being the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Fenris nodded. “I have to confess that our recent adventure has increased my weariness. I do not want to watch you fight evil creatures any longer, to worry every time I see your sword come down from the wall that I will lose you. I cannot bear the thought.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Fenris.”

“No? Because we were both incapacitated in the fight with Corypheus. Had it not been for our friends—“

“Where do I ever go without a retinue of devoted friends?” Hawke asked.

Fenris smiled briefly, but without particular amusement. “Someday you may wish to do so.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’d rather die fighting at your side than safely in a chair without you.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Are those the only options?”

“They were the first two that came to mind.”

Fenris sighed, letting go of her hand. “I take it that today is not that day.”

“If I thought I could go on living in Kirkwall without being the Champion, I would quit tomorrow, Fenris,” she said, keeping pace with him as he continued walking. “But I don’t think I can … and I’m not ready to leave my home. Bethany still needs me to watch over her, and …”

He turned on her, his green eyes blazing. “How much longer will you continue to hide behind a promise given decades ago to a dying man, on behalf of a woman who has proven time and again that she is perfectly competent to live her own life? Do you believe Bethany is still cowering behind you, waiting for her big sister to battle her demons for her? Surely Anders put an end to that idea once and for all.”

Hawke sighed. “Possibly it should have. Probably,” she amended as he scowled. “But a lifetime’s worth of training is hard to let go of.”

“Surely the truth about your father—“

“What truth?” she interrupted, her voice hard. “That he was blackmailed into performing blood magic, tempting demons, by the Grey Wardens? That he must have spent the rest of his life tormented by those same demons, and that he never once slipped and let a demon have a toehold inside him, that truth? That only makes me admire him more. He did what he had to do for his family; I have done the same for as long as I could hold a sword.”

“And you do not believe your sister has that same strength.”

Evelyn froze, staring at him. He was right; she had always seen Bethany as weak, delicate, easily broken. “Yes.” She bit her lip. “Ironic, isn’t it, that you have a greater appreciation for my sister’s true strength than I do?”

“Not ironic; you are very close to the situation. You see in your sister an infant, a toddler, a small child having tantrums and being frightened by childish things. I have only ever known her as a woman, who is, despite her magic, every bit as formidable as her sister.” He reached for Evelyn’s hand, a smile lighting his eyes. “I also see in you a vulnerability to match that which you perceive in Bethany. It is very much part of your charm.” He drew her closer, his voice dropping. “Particularly because I appear to be the only person you allow to glimpse and soothe that vulnerability. I am aware of the implicit compliment, and of the responsibility it carries.”

Evelyn smiled as well, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“Hey, Broody and Hawke,” Varric called from far ahead—they hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped walking and the others had kept going. “Let’s go home.”

Hawke glanced at Fenris, who nodded. She took his hand, feeling his slim, strong fingers entwine with hers, and she smiled. “Coming, Varric.”


End file.
